Jury summons
by Aaymeirah
Summary: Sherlock knows that when you're part of a jury, you have to decide a fate. That doesn't bother him. What does is the boredom. Sherlock has never been at good dealing with a lack of stimulus, or ignoring a convoluted murder. Cue legal shenanigans, boredom, awkward situations and all the inconveniences Jury Duty causes. But hey, at least someone's dead under mysterious circumstances.
1. If he must

"You can't ignore it!" John insisted, bouncing Rosie on his knee and staring at his best friend, who was slumped on the couch, studiously ignoring him and the letter lying on the armrest of John's chair.

"I mean it Sherlock, refusing a Jury Summons just isn't done."

Sherlock remained in his spot, unmoving. John sighed and stood up, Rosie was starting to cry, and her diaper was heavy.

"This isn't over." John told him. A slight smirk ghosted across Sherlock's face.

"You know you can get fined upwards of £1,000 for refusing to do jury service." John tried again over a lunch, which, as Sherlock had eaten yesterday and Rosie was refusing to eat some perfectly reasonable puree vegetables, only he was eating.

"You also can't be on a jury if you've been in prison for the last ten years. Remember the time we landed up in a holding cell for drunks, or that time we got ourselves arrested for burglary?" Sherlock retorted.

"Mycroft cleared your 'criminal record.'"

"Then I'll just be sick."

"That only postpones the process." Sherlock scowled and turned to Rosie, once more ignoring John as he explained calmly and logically to the one-year old that it made no sense to refuse to eat her lunch as it would only make her irritable and unable to sleep. John shook his head and reflected upon the hypocrisy of consulting detectives.

"Why are you so dead set against this? You're required by law to attend."

"Since when have I ever let a little thing like laws stop me John?"

"But you're avoiding the question."

"It's simple really, I have to go sit in a room where incompetent people are investigating a case I could solve in half an hour, keep my mouth shut and help reach a consensus while closely interacting with people. Boring."

"It'll be educational. You usually find who did it. Now you can see what happens to those you say are guilty after they are arrested."

"Usually?"

"Alright, you find out who committed the crime." Sherlock seemed mollified, but he ended John's attempt at persuasion with;

"Not interested. Don't you have a blog to write or something?"

Sherlock came into the flat with a bag of take out Vietnamese and scowled when he saw who was sitting in his chair, idly twirling an umbrella.

"Mycroft, what are you doing here?" Sherlock demanded.

"I heard that my little brother was reluctant to fulfill his civic duties."

"What's it to you?"

"You were randomly selected; I had no hand in this."

"Of course Mycroft." Sherlock rolled his eyes and placed the food on the kitchen table, observing that the fold up stroller was gone, which meant John had gone for a walk with Rosie, and Sherlock would have no help from that quarter.

"It would cause me quite some trouble to get you out of doing this. And frankly, I don't have the time to."

"Then what are you doing here?" Sherlock crossed his arms, hating how unbalanced Mycroft made him.

"I'm bribing you with a number of cold cases. Locked-room homicides mostly, that I recently- obtained. It's only ten days so, if you do this without causing a fuss, they're all yours."

"Not interested."

"Oh, really? Then why did your eyes light up when I mentioned the cases and you leaned your head towards me as I said they were locked room homicides. And judging from your slightly slumped shoulders, you're actually considering giving in and accepting?" Mycroft smiled.

"Get out Mycroft." Sherlock ordered. Still smiling, he got up, leaning on his umbrella.

"Have fun at court brother-mine!" He called as he started going down the stairs. Sherlock sighed and straightened his suit.

"Well, this brings back memories." Sherlock said under his breath as he got out of the cab that had taken him to Old Bailey, where all the major crimes in London and surrounding areas were tried. This was also the place Moriarty was pronounced not guilty because he blackmailed the jury. Sherlock highly doubted whichever crime he would have to sit in on would be anywhere near as interesting as that one. He resigned himself to boredom.

"Put you phone, personal effects and such the like in this bin here mister." The security guard told him. Sherlock could see that this man had been at the job for over two years and was well practiced in vetting those entering the Criminal Court. Therefore, he reluctantly placed his phone, wallet, watch and the little tool case where he kept his magnifying glass, lock picks and other useful implements in the plastic bin.

It was like airport security; he removed his shoes and stepped through the metal detector. No sound.

"You have to take off your coat sir." The security guard insisted. Sherlock glared at him.

"The metal detector didn't go off, I'm not hiding anything." He stated flatly, pulling the Belstaff close.

"We will confiscate it if we have to sir, we must put it through the X-Ray." Sherlock considered telling the guard that he was aware that he was cheating on his wife, but remembered the locked-room cases Mycroft had promised him, kept his trap shut and handed over the coat.

He had been happy to learn that out of the thirty people called for jury service; only twelve would be selected to be on the current jury. Sherlock sat easily in his chair and tried to combat boredom by deducing everyone's profession.

Too easy. He needed a case, hadn't had one all week. And if he was going to be stuck for the next ten days hearing lawyers hashing out a easily solvable case, he was going to go crazy.

The Court Usher came forty minutes into his wait, and read off a list of those selected. Sherlock allowed a faint hope to grow in his heart, as his name wasn't called. Robert Leren. Ezzie Paul-Thyler. Wendy Blanche. One more name on the list.

"Sherlock Holmes." Luck was not with him today. Sherlock stood off and went to join his fellow jurors, all eyes on the famous consulting detective.


	2. Civic Duties

They filed into the courtroom, each sitting in the seat that corresponded to their jury number. Sherlock was in the far right corner of the second row. From here, he had a good vantage of the action. (Such as it was.) He had been emailed a video explaining just what would happen in a courtroom, but he hadn't watched it. John had, he seemed to be fascinated with the whole procedure. Sherlock didn't see the point. What did politics have to with solving crimes? He caught the criminal; he didn't care what happened to them afterwards. All the same, he was beginning to regret the decision. His only real experience in court had been that disastrous time with Moriarty. And being a witness was much different than a juror. He did have knowledge of the law. Just not in practice.

Bored. Already. The Court Clerk (insomniac, anxiety issues, wearing someone else's robe?) came forward to a table just before the bank of juries.

"Does anyone on the jury know or recognize the people currently on the floor?" He asked. Sherlock carefully looked at the defendant, lawyers, the prosecution and the witnesses sitting in the witness bank. Hoping to recognize someone. He smiled when he saw the judge.

"I know the judge," he said. "Was a witness during a case he presided over." The Court Clerk rolled his eyes.

"Judge Simon is not involved in the case. He is here to direct and to uphold the law. Seeing as he is not the one delivering the final verdict, it matters not. Anyone else?" Sherlock sighed. His chances for getting out of this were getting slimmer by the minute.

"The defendants and prosecution have chosen not to examine the jury; you will all be sworn in. As jurors, you can chose to swear an oath by whatever book you choose or make an affirmation if you do not go in for religion. When your number is called, please repeat after me." He said. The least Sherlock could do was observe.

"Number one, please come forward." The Court Clerk announced pompously. Number one, as the court would know the thirty-something man in a blue button up shirt and nicely pressed slacks (Self-conscious about receding hairline, nearsighted, allergic to cats despite having cat fur on pants, involved in a serious relationship.) stood up.

"I'll swear on the Bible."

"Repeat after me. I swear by Almighty God that I will faithfully try the defendant and give a true verdict according to the evidence."

"I swear by Almighty God that I will faithfully try the defendant and give a true verdict according to the evidence." The man repeated, then sat back down. Sherlock felt relived, he greatly disliked making vows or promises, but this was something he could say in good faith. None of the jurors was the least bit interesting, easily deducible, he was busy scanning the gallery to see who would come to watch the trial. Reporters, large family, assorted law students, no distraction there. He was considering whether he should organize his recent case files in his mind palace when his number was called.

"Number twelve. Stand up and repeat after me." Sherlock stood up, glad to stretch his legs. It was an insult to his intelligence! To think that after eleven oaths and affirmations he wouldn't be able to remember the basic formula.

"I solemnly, sincerely and truly declare and affirm that I will faithfully try the defendant and give a true verdict according to the evidence." He said quickly. The Court Clerk frowned and he saw Judge Simon turn to look at him. Sherlock could not help smiling when he saw the old man's eyes recognize him and a frown seam his wrinkled face. The Court Clerk misinterpreted this and said reprovingly,

"The Jury is respectfully reminded that their place is to observe and listen. It is not necessary for you to speak, specifically out of turn. The Jury is also reminded that failure to comply with the regulations outlined in your information packets can be interpreted as contempt for the law, repercussions will follow."

Sherlock frowned and sat down petulantly. Just barely restraining the urge to stick his tongue out at The Court Clerk.

"And now that the Jury is in place," the Court Clerk moved to his seat and Judge Simon looked at his notes.

"Here is the trial of Timothy vs Keen. The defendant is Mark Timothy, who has been called to court by the prosecution Elizabeth Keen on charges of physical assault, stalking with criminal intent and second-degree murder." Sherlock was mildly interested for a moment. Murder!

"To this indictment he has pleaded not guilty and it is your charge to say, having heard the evidence, whether he be guilty or not." The Court Clerk said to the Jury. Sherlock rolled his eyes, interest ebbing, already sick of these useless forms of address.

"Prosecution, state your case." Judge Simon said.

"On the night of June 8th, three weeks to this day, my client, Ms. Keen checked herself into the hospital for treatment for a broken forearm and sporting multiple bruises on her body. She claimed that she had fallen down the stairs when home alone. Two days later, she phoned the police to say that she was being followed. She kept seeing a man, now identified as Mark Timothy wherever she went, saying that that night she had woken up to see Timothy looking at her through her bedroom window.

"On June 14th, she was taking the Tube home from her work at a veterinarian clinic, where she was a receptionist. Two blocks away from her house, the man who had been stalking her stopped her forcibly and made advances upon her. It had not gone very far when another man came along. One Liam Reilster.

"Liam Reilster was her ex-boyfriend allegedly coming to make up their differences. When he saw what was happening, he pulled Timothy off her and started hitting him. Timothy pulled out a knife and stabbed Reilster through two ribs, piercing his heart. The CCTV picked up a video of Timothy leaving the alleyway, concealing the knife in his boot.

"Ms. Keen immediately called the police and they sent out a search for her assailant. He was not found that night. However, five days ago, a man registered under the name Mark Timothy, matching Ms. Keen's description precisely was found in a motel just outside of London, turned in by an anonymous tip. And here we are today, Ms. Keen wishes only for justice to be brought to Reilster and for a dangerous man to be locked up."

"Well, that escalated quickly." Sherlock mumbled under his breath as he started truly paying attention to the trial. Something felt off about the story. He was bored, what else was there to do than to get to the truth of the matter?

After all, it was his civic duty.


	3. Only a picture

"Will the defendant state their case." Judge Simon ordered. As the lawyer from the prosecution sat down, adjusting his wig, the defendant's representative stood up.

"Thank you your honor. My client, Mark Timothy, flatly denies all allegations against him. He says that the wrong man has been apprehended. Timothy declares that he was not present in the alleyway that fateful night. Instead, he says that he had been eating dinner at a certain Thai restaurant on the opposite side of the city, Phai's Thai. We have no less than three witnesses who will all swear to seeing him eating during the time of the crime. As to why he was in a motel, Timothy is travel blogger. He was taking a retreat from the city to write up an account of his time in the city. I rest my case."

"Thank you." Judge Simon said.

"Does the prosecution have witnesses?"

"Two will attest to the fact that Keen took her usual route home and was looking worried all week. We have another who says they saw her and Timothy going into an alleyway and various others for character witnesses to attest to the fact that she had recently broken up with Reilster and such the like."

"Are any available today?"

"No your honor."

"Thank you prosecution, now let us review the footage from the CCTV."

Sherlock hadn't moved during the time it took for each side to present their initial case. Hands in a steeple against his chin, he observed Ms. Keen.

She was around twenty-five years old. Just over 5"5' if you took away her 2-inch heels. Bleached blonde hair newly cut at shoulder length; she was wearing a grey pencil skirt and a turtleneck cardigan with long sleeves. A large, over the shoulder handbag rested by her chair. Peeking out from the partially unzipped top was some action thriller novel with a fierce looking woman brandishing knives. She had an expression of studied indifference, undoubtedly perfected through long hours of reception work. She had just gotten out of a school and this was evidently a temporary career for her.

Content with his initial examination, which of course took a fraction of a second, he turned with the rest of the jury to the screen being set up. A projector beamed the grainy footage.

Sherlock saw a man, middle height with a crew cut come out of an alleyway and looking around in all directions wildly. He was holding a bloodied switchblade in his left hand. Wiping it on the inside of a imitation leather jacket, he carefully placed it in the lining of his heavy duty work boots. There was only a few more seconds of footage, showing the man walking off to the right. A less observant man would never have noticed it. But Sherlock had been living with John for the past few years, who even though his limp was gone, still favored his leg after heavy use. This man obviously had an old injury in his left leg that caused him to walk with a slight limp.

The video ended and it was as if a bubble popped. A low murmur started in the observer's gallery and certain members of the jury began to whisper. Sherlock noted with interest that number eight, a woman (mother of at least two, married for four years, Jewish) looked sick. Sherlock couldn't understand. Why would that video make one queasy? There was hardly any blood, indeed, it was just a man coming out of an alleyway furtively. He shrugged and chalked it up to the foibles of people.

Judge Simon banged his gavel on the wooden block. It was enough to break through the noise.

"Silence, silence in the court." He then turned to Timothy's lawyer.

"Do you agree that this man looks an awfully lot like you client, defendant?" The lawyer looked nonplussed; evidently, he was not aware of this footage.

"Yes, however there could be any number of reasons for that, the fact stands that Timothy was most assuredly at Phai's Thai when the crime was committed so he could not possibly be the one to do it."

"We shall see." Said Judge Simon evenly.

"Clerk, if you would pass to the jury the photos of Reilster's body and the knife allegedly used to stab him, for examination. I shall take a ten-minute recess to sort out a matter of the law."

Judge Simon stood up slowly and exited the room. The Court Clerk turned to the Jury as an aide passed out packets of colored photographs.

"If at this time you must use the washroom, there are facilities just around the corner. To preserve the integrity of this jury, you are asked to stay in the jury box for the remainder of the time. If at any time you find these photos too disturbing, you may signal and aide and we will see what we can do to help."

Sherlock eagerly looked at his packet. On the first page, there was a picture of the murder weapon. A 5-inch switchblade with a well-worn handle. It looked oddly delicate to belong to such a heavyset man, but no matter. The next page contained photos of Reilster's body in the morgue, then a close up of the wound.

The knife entered perpendicular to the ribs, starting from the left armpit, it had evidently punctured the left lung and pierced a major artery in the heart. Death would have been swift. So what did that tell Sherlock? Reilster was a short, compact man, under 5", so whoever stabbed him would have to be taller or of equal height to stab so high in the abdomen. Timothy fit that. However, in a fight, it would have been very difficult to execute such a perfect thrust due to the rib cage. If anything, Sherlock would have said that he was stabbed when his guard was down, and that whoever stabbed him got very lucky. And how would that work with the prosecution's story?

All these interesting questions and considerations. He may be bored by the proceedings, but this case certainly wasn't boring. It had been ages since he had a murder to solve that was as complicated as this was looking to become.

Sherlock wished that John were with him. He could tell his theories to John, it always helped clarify his ideas. And John would certainly have made some amusing comment about the proceedings.

But no, he was stuck here in court for at least another hour. Moreover, John certainly wouldn't approve of him doing further investigation. The Jury was supposed to make their decision solely on the evidence presented to them. But Sherlock needed more data! He would have to do this one on his own. (No matter how much he didn't want to.)

Sherlock was broken from his musings when he saw juror number eight hurrying through the aisle, hand clamped over her mouth. Evidently, she did not take the pictures well. It was a tiny little deathly stab wound! Nothing to get worked up about, besides the embalmers had done a good job, hardly any decomposition. Sherlock began to pull his long legs onto the bench to let the lady pass through. Not fast enough, because she tripped. Slowly, shakily, she used his seat as a prop to pull herself up.

"I'm okay." Sherlock looked at her steadily.

"No I'm not okay." The lady amended, and she vomited right onto Sherlock's lap.

What had Sherlock said about being bored?


	4. Escape

Sherlock froze in shock.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Juror number eight said in embarrassment, then vomited once more, this time on his shirt. People were starting to look at him and the lady. An aide rushed off, probably to notify the Judge or something. Juror number eight finally stood up and ran off to the bathroom. Stiffly, Sherlock removed his scarf, miraculously clean and covered his mouth and nose with it to ward off the stench. Number eleven, a university student leaned over to him,

"You okay man?"

"Of course I am. I'm covered in vomit. Couldn't be better." He mumbled through his scarf.

"Really?"

"I believe I was just using sarcasm." Sherlock clarified, annoyed. Maybe he should leave the sarcasm to John.

"Right." Sherlock decided he had better go try to clean himself off when Judge Simon came back in, looking almost as mad as when Sherlock was attempting to be a 'good' witness.

"The Court is adjourned and jury honorably dismissed for the day. The case will be re-opened at 11am tomorrow. Thank you all." He growled, fixing Sherlock with a glare, as if it was his fault he was covered in vomit. Everyone stood up as Judge Simon left the room, then began to leave. Furtive glances and wipers were obviously directed at him. Sherlock stood up as well, intending to use the washroom, then stopped in surprise. The defendant, Timothy was leaving with his lawyer. He didn't have a limp.

An aide came up to him looking very embarrassed,

"Sorry about that sir, we have some clothes around here we could lend you."

"People vomit much around here?"

"Well, no, but some of the evidence is pretty graphic stuff." Sherlock snorted in contempt.

"I'll be fine." Brushing the aide aside, he flounced with wounded pride to the bathroom.

It was a short walk to the bathroom, but already Sherlock was beginning to regret his disdainful dismissal of the aide's offer. Really, Old Bailey was a place unto itself. Tasteful oak paneling and dark leather upholstery was the word for this courtroom. Even the door to the bathroom was in the same motif. The man didn't notice him until it was too late.

"Ow!" Said the man as he fell down, neatly folded black robes and white collars tumbling around him even as his glasses fell off their precarious perch on his small nose. Sherlock had kept his feet, using the door for support; he turned around, pleased to have not gotten the vomit anywhere. As he saw the robes, an idea occurred to him.

"I am dreadfully sorry man!" Sherlock cried, he had always been good at acting.

"Let me help you pick those up." He bent down as if to help fold the robes. The man, noticed the mess that covered Sherlock and shook his head wildly.

"Oh, no need sir. I'm perfectly capable." He said, patting around for his glasses. Nearsighted then.

"I insist."

"As do I, continue on your business sir and I shall continue on with mine."

"Very well." Sherlock pretended to be disappointed, he then picked up the glasses fallen not a foot from the man's searching hand and handed them to him.

"Looking for these?"

"Yes, thank you…" The man Sherlock had bumped into blinked as he adjusted to being able to see once more. But Sherlock was gone. The door to the bathroom swung slightly, and the man dismissed the incident. Oblivious to the fact that he was one outfit short.

A few minutes later, a tall man in a lawyer's robe and collar left the washroom. He carried a plastic bag smelling a bit not good and walked with purposeful steps. As always, people saw, but did not observe. They saw the black robe, lawyer, not worthy of further scrutiny. No one cared enough to notice that he did not have a well-fitted wig (not much choice there, he obtained it from the first distracted lawyer he could find), that the hem of the robe only reached mid-way to his calves. No one glanced twice when he reclaimed a grey coat from the visitor's coatroom. The man was quiet pleased with himself, he cheerily left the building by a back door, temporarily oblivious to the fact that outside of Old bailey's own little world, he was quite conspicuous indeed.


	5. Tough day

Sherlock stood on the curb and flagged a taxi. Opening the door and getting in was hard in his newly acquired lawyer's robe with the wig falling on his face so that it covered his eyes, but he managed.

"221b Baker Street." He said. The cabbie (chain smoker, played the saxophone, recently fired) looked him over bemusedly. However, cabbies were used to strange sights, and he shrugged and started the taxi.

Sherlock attempted to go to his mind palace to properly sort all the data he had collected today, but kept on getting distracted by the horribly strong smell of his soiled clothes. He glared at them; he would have to move his plan to get Ms. Hudson to wash his used clothes of the past two weeks up by three whole days! This was ridiculous, he spent days surrounded by decomposing bodies, he had run an experiment trying to see what was the most horrible smell, driven John out of the flat for two days in the process, and he hadn't been affected. He should not be so distracted.

Ignore the smell.

What did he know about the case? Mr. Timothy supposedly assaulted Ms. Keen. Her ex-boyfriend just happened to be coming by when she was walking home from work, saw what was happening, and engaged Timothy in a fight. In the process, Leister was stabbed, resulting in his death. A video of Timothy had been taken of him leaving the alleyway, frantically concealing a knife.

The evidence all pointed towards Timothy, then again, Timothy didn't have a limp, and Sherlock inferred from the fact that he had a lawyer at all on such a thin case, that the people he would bring in as witnesses would all check out. So who could have killed Leister if not him?

When you have eliminated the impossible, what remains, no matter how improbable must be the truth.

Could Ms. Keen have killed Leister? She was the only other one at the scene; could her situation with her ex-boyfriend be so bad that she felt she had to kill him? Then what role did Timothy play in all this? Could the-

Once more he was interrupted, just as he felt he was reaching a crucial point in his deductions.

"Look, I'm sorry man, but I can't stand the smell of whatever you've got in that bag. So I'm going to drop you off here, no charge."

"You worked as a garbage collector before you lost your job due to belligerence. Surely, you can stand the smell of a little vomit." Sherlock snapped. The cabbie stared at him.

"Freaky, how'd you know?" He asked. That was the last straw; Sherlock gave him his best glare and exited the taxi, right in front of the entrance to a Tube station. He got a few strange glances, but this was London after all, and strange people walked around all the time.

"Tough day at work?" The woman at the turnstile asked sarcastically.

"Yes." Just go along with it, he would back home soon, where he could think in peace.

"I hear you; law can be a bitch sometimes. Took me ages to get a divorce, and then there was all that inquiries into abuse and the like. Sometimes I wish I could be like Yirin Tailwind, you know?"

"I'm sorry who?" How long did it take to get a ticket to go on the next train? He wished he hadn't left his Oyster card at home.

"Oh, just a character from a really popular book series, Tailwind dilemmas. She's a rogue pilot whose goal is to eliminate bad guys wherever she goes. Really gripping stuff."

"A superhero?" Sherlock would never read such drivel.

"No, she's a normal human who has wicked knife skills."

"A vigilante knife-fighting pilot. Stranger things have happened." Sherlock mumbled.

"Like a lawyer carrying around a reeking plastic bag with a Sherlock coat on?"

"A Sherlock coat?"

"You know the type the consulting detective wears. Geez, first Tailwind, now Sherlock, you really are out of the loop aren't you?" the woman shook her head. Sherlock smirked; perhaps he ought to wear a wig more often. He took the ticket he had waited much too long to get and went to catch the next ride.

221b Baker Street, Sherlock was glad to be home. He stared for a moment at the new wall, when he had the flat rebuilt, he had stayed as close to the original as possible, of course they added in the extra room for Rosie, but other than that, it looked as if the explosion had never happened. Sometimes having the British Government as your brother helped. A little.

"Ms. Hudson!" Sherlock called. She appeared in a moment, vacuum cleaner in hand.

"Sherlock, what are you wearing?"

"Doesn't matter, can you wash these?" He threw the bag to Ms. Hudson. She looked inside and winced.

"Really, what have you been doing?"

"Will you wash them?"

"Not your housekeeper." Ms. Hudson protested by reflex, then left the entrance, but she had the bag in her hand, so that was something.

"And do be quiet." She stopped before she reached the next room. "Rosie's sleeping." Sherlock rolled his eyes and started climbing the stairs. Eager to be done with this day.

John took one look at him and started laughing helplessly.

"Did you really wear that?" He asked.

"It's not like I had a choice." Sherlock stomped into the flat. "And shouldn't you be quiet? Watson is sleeping."

"But what happened?"

"Someone took exception to the pictures of the murdered victim, didn't make it to the bathroom in time. I was the recipient of the vomit instead."

"So the day wasn't entirely boring."

"The case is interesting, of course those idiots in the court are making a hash of it, and all that protocol made me want to claw my eyes out."

"As I recall, you didn't do so good last time in court. Didn't you get placed in a holding cell for impertinence?"

"You know full well what happened." All mirth left John's face as he recalled that time and Sherlock immediately regretted his words.

"I'm having a shower and getting into proper clothes." He said, because he couldn't bring himself to apologize.

"Good idea." John went back to reading something online.

Clean once more and dressed in proper clothes. Sherlock flopped onto the couch.

"John? We need to go out for dinner tonight. A place called Phai's Thai."

John looked at him strangely.

"You aren't supposed to be investigating; a juror must make their decision solely on the evidence provided to them."

"Who says this is for a case?"

"I spent the day interpreting Rosie's babble, not so hard to do it for you."

"Hey!"

"Anyways, I have a late shift at the clinic, since it was your day to watch Rosie and I had to take a day off. So you'll have to take Rosie by yourself if you so desperately need to go."

"Fine I will." Sherlock said petulantly. He then turned his back to John and to all appearances fell asleep.

John knew that was not the case. Sherlock was either pouting or thinking. Probably a bit of both.


	6. Phai's Thai

"Here we are Watson." Sherlock announced to the baby that he held on his hip. Rosie smiled happily for she loved taxi rides. Phai's Thai was a small niche restaurant well out of the way of the area London tourists usually saw. This was a restaurant only locals would frequent, it looked as if it had always been there, and always would. A sign read Phai's Thai in peeling letters over the mantle of the draped, glass door.

Sherlock didn't know quite what he was looking for, but he knew that if he wanted to find out what the truth was behind the court case, the kind the lawyers and that insufferable Judge Simon would never figure out, he had to follow up on all options. Eating at a restaurant was legal, the fact that it happened to be the one Timothy claimed to be at the time of the murder was just a happy coincidence. John probably wouldn't see it that way, but John wasn't here.

"At least I have a Watson." He said to Rosie.

"Watson." Rosie said.

"Very good." She had started saying words a while ago, but they were few and far between.

"Ready to go do some investigating?" Rosie pouted.

"Oh, not you as well." Sherlock sighed. Then entered Phai's Thai.

The restaurant was tastefully decorated, giving a pleasantly foreign feel.

"Table for one?" A waitress asked cheerfully. Sherlock could see two others weaving between tables and noticed a remarkable resemblance.

"Yes."

"Right this way."

"Family business?" Sherlock asked casually.

"Oh yes, we serve out traditional Thai food from this very restaurant, have been doing so ever since my grandparents came to London."

"So you do pretty well for yourselves."

"We have a steady patronage from the locals of this area. Not many new people."

"So visitors to London don't really come here?"

"This isn't exactly on the list of must see spots when visiting London."

"I suppose not."

"Here's your table, I'll come by with a menu in a moment, you want a booster seat for your kid?"

"She's not mine." Sherlock responded automatically. Then realized how that sounded.

"I'm sort of her uncle." He elaborated. The waitress looked at him knowingly.

"Baby sitting duty? I know how that is."

"Yes well, I'll just prop Watson in the corner and we'll be fine." Sherlock did not like this line of questioning.

"Suit yourself, be back in a moment." The waitress walked off. Sherlock sat down on the booth seat of the small table and placed Rosie in the corner.

"Food?" She asked.

"Yes Watson, we're getting food." At least she was, Sherlock didn't plan on eating, he was on a case, but he did know that it was mighty strange going to a restaurant and not ordering food.

"Here's your menu and a complimentary glass of water."

"Thanks." Sherlock said absently, glancing at the menu.

"What do you recommend?" He had to keep this talkative waitress talking if he wanted to find out anything about Timothy.

"Pad See Ew is my favorite."

"Stir fried rice noodles?" Sherlock asked. "Sure."

"You speak Thai?"

"A smattering."

"Well then." The waitress seemed impressed. "And what will your niece be having?"

"She'll have some of mine."

"Alright then."

Once more, the waitress left, leaving Sherlock feeling very smug. Evidently, she had forgotten that the English equivalent of the dishes was written in italics on the menu.

"Here's your fried rice mister."

"Thank you." Sherlock had learned that people responded to you better when you were polite. It was a bloody bother, but, anything for a mystery. The waitress also put a smaller bowl down for Rosie.

"Enjoy." And she went off to the next person.

Sherlock stared at his food, he really wasn't hungry.

"Here you go Watson, try not to make too much of a mess alright?" Sherlock dumped as much rice as possible into her small bowl. Rosie immediately started eating with her hands. Ah well, Sherlock told himself, it was the traditional way to eat Thai food. While Rosie was styling her hair with sticky crushed rice, Sherlock considered what he had learned.

This was a place for locals. Why had Timothy, by his own defense gone here if he was a travel writer just visiting London? He could be looking for what life was like for the people who actually lived here. A question easily answered. He pulled out his phone and googled Mark Timothy.

Here it was, the first result, . Clicking on it, he saw a very professionally formatted blog, like the one John wrote. Except this blog wasn't about his misadventures in crime solving. No, this was a blog dedicated to- people? The profile showed a smiling Timothy and said that he was a freelance travel writer and photographer and that this was an account of his travels around the globe.

The most recent posts were all about his observations on how people acted. It seemed as if Timothy traveled to collect information about people in various cultures. Interesting. Could this be a subtle hint to a penchant for stalking people?

He looked at Rosie, she was still happily chewing with her mouth open and painting on the table with sauce. Good.

He looked back to his phone and tapped on the gallery section. Sherlock scrolled through images of people. People walking, talking, buying ice cream. Reading on a park bench. Was there a pattern to these people? Types of people Timothy especially enjoyed? A smile broke onto his face when he saw the most recent photo taken in London. June 7th. There were a few others of him in a motel room dated to a few days ago. This proved that Timothy was not there to assault Ms. Keen. New question, who was? There was certainly someone who closely resembled him walking about. Twins? Sherlock quickly dismissed the idea, it was never twins.

"You done Watson?" He asked the little girl.

"Done!" Rosie said, clapping her hands. As if by magic, the waitress appeared once more. She frowned for a moment at the mess Rosie had made then her sunny smile reappeared on her face.

"Will that be all?"

"Yes. My bill?"

"Right here." Sherlock put some cash on the table.

"Keep the change."

"Most kind of you." The waitress left, pocketing the money.

"Come now Watson, lets' get you cleaned up. If you go home like this your daddy will be very mad at me." Good thing Sherlock had a proper change of clothes for her in the diaper bag.


	7. Witness the prosecution

Jury duty, day two. Sherlock sat on his seat in the jury panel, bored. Hurry up and bring out the witnesses folks! He was so close to finding out what really happened! He carefully did not consider the fact that later today, the jury would actually meet and discuss whether the defendant was guilty or not. It was clear that Timothy was innocent of the murder, but parts of his story did not match up. For all Sherlock knew, he could very well have been the stalker and witnessed Keen stabbing Leister when he assaulted her instead. Perhaps the witnesses would help. Or perhaps not.

Judge Simon was reviewing the case as it stood since yesterdays'- interruption. Sherlock shifted in his seat impatiently. He stared at the empty spot where the woman who had vomited on him yesterday was supposed to sit. Evidently, she had elected to bow out of this court case.

Too bad he couldn't as well.

"Will the first witness for the prosecution stand up?" Judge Simon asked. A tall woman stood up from the witness' bench and walked nervously over to the stand.

"I do solemnly, sincerely and truly declare and affirm that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth." She repeated after the Court Clerk told her her lines. Keen's Lawyer stood up.

"Dr. Kayla."

"That's me."

"Are you aware why you have been called to the witness stand today?" Sherlock shook his head. Amateur! he was leading the witness!

"Um, because you want to question me?"

"Please tell us about Ms. Keen."

"Well, she works as a receptionist at my veterinarian clinic."

"Has she been employed for long?"

"A year to this day, and I must say, she's a good person, even if a bit out of it at times."

"Thank you. And what would you say her mood has been these past two weeks or so?"

"Um, she's been a bit jumpy? I don't know what word to use, but she still come to work every day at her usual time."

"So her habits are regular, you've just noticed a certain paranoia about her."

"Paranoid! Yes, that's the word."

"Thank you Dr. Kayla that will be all from me."

"Would the defense like to cross-examine the witness?" Judge Simon asked.

"Yes your honor, we would." Here Timothy's lawyer stood up and walked in front of the witness stand.

"Dr. Kayla, you mentioned that, and I quote 'she's a good person, even if a bit out of it at times.' Would you please elaborate on the second half of that statement?" Sherlock nodded thoughtfully, glad that the defense had noticed that statement.

"Well, you know, she's forever reading. Any chance she has she's off reading the latest Yirin Tailwind book or something. Has her head in the clouds often. But she still does her job well and promptly." Dr. Kayla hurried to elaborate. Sherlock didn't miss the guilty look she gave to Keen, so, since Dr. Kayla ran her own clinic, she could chose her employees personally. And she obviously felt loyalty to them.

"So could this paranoia she had been demonstrating be just her siccing herself up to hysterics?" Leading the witness again.

"Maybe, I don't know much about her personal life."

"Did Keen take time off work recently?"

"A few weeks ago she took three days off due to a nasty tumble down some stairs."

"Stairs?"

"That's what she said."

"But you don't believe this."

"Well…"

"Your honor, he's badgering the witness!" Lawyer for prosecution said. Judge Simon considered this.

"Very well, Dr. Kayla that is all we need from you." She looked relived. His fellow jurors were furiously taking notes; Sherlock just sat there and filed it in his mind palace for quick reference.

"Next witness please, we don't have all day." Judge Simon chivvied.

This time, it was a man, (Chinese, has a dog, surgeon's hands.) and after he had made his affirmation, he stood completely still, waiting.

"Your name and position at Pleasant Pets?"

"I'm Lei Chu, I am the surgeon at the pet clinic."

"And how do you know Ms. Keen?"

"She's the receptionist."

"How would you describe her?"

"Blonde hair, average height, blue eyes."

"Her personality I meant." The lawyer was visibly getting frustrated. Sherlock was beginning to like this Lei Chu.

"Then why didn't you say so?"

"I'm asking the questions here." Sherlock snorted. Cliché or what?

"Ms. Keen seems to be a professional individual, very soft spoken. She likes books."

"The both of you mentioned that she reads books. This is something everyone notices about her?"

"I wouldn't know about everyone, but she's seldom seen without a book or a rather vacant expression behind her receptionist face. As if she's not entirely present."

"Are you aware of her personal life?"

"No, why should I know?"

"That will be all." Lei rolled his eyes but stood stoically, looking evenly between Keen, who was idly pulling the sleeve of her left arm over her hand and Timothy, who sat in his place with an expression of worry on his face.

"Would the defendant like to cross-examine the witness?"

"No your honor."

"We the prosecution have one more witness, who claims to have seen Timothy exiting the alley in a state of disarray and panic."

"Get on with it then." Sherlock mumbled, his suspicions about what was going on were starting to become clear.

This man was skinny and pale (homeless, though not one of his irregulars, addicted to crystal meth.) He stood uncomfortably in an obviously borrowed clean shirt and grubby jeans. His hand shook slightly.

"Adrien. You told the police that came to the crime scene that you saw Timothy leaving the alley. Your exact quote was 'There was this man cleaning a knife and shoving it into his boot. Heavy set, he looked like he'd been in a scuffle. I just figured you cops would want to know 'cause I sure as hell ain't looking to find out what's going on.' End quote."

"Yeah, I said that."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Nope." Sherlock groaned. Why were these lawyers incapable of asking the right questions?

"After Timothy had left the alley, but before Scotland Yard came, did anyone else leave the alley?"

"No, only the lady who was crying over the stiff they were carrying on a stretcher."

"And you didn't see anyone entering the alley."

"Well, I might have seen this Timothy guy going into the alley, but I can't be sure because I just caught a glimpse before I moved on." To get his next fix. Sherlock thought cynically. He knew how people like him worked.

"That will be all." The prosecution said hastily, abruptly. Sherlock smiled with delight. The druggie had admitted he saw Timothy entering the alley sans Keen. He couldn't have assaulted her. It must have been the other way round, with Leister making unwanted advances upon her!


	8. Tantalizing Texts

Defense decided not to cross-examine Adrien. Probably for the best. As Ms. Keen's representative did not have any more witnesses, it was the turn of Timothy's side.

"Does the defense have any witnesses?" Judge Simon asked, bored.

"Yes you honor." Sherlock looked at the woman stepping up into the witness stand.

Shit.

It was the talkative waitress from Phai's Thai. The Jury was supposed to notify the Clerk via an aide if at any point they recognized someone in the trial. Sherlock absolutely couldn't let her get a good look at him, if he told someone of how he knew her, then he might be moved to a different trial! And he had gone through too much boredom to start all over again with a case about some petty theft. They were nearly done the court part! What to do?

"I need to use the washroom." He told an aide. She looked annoyed,

"As a Jury member, you must be aware of all sides of the story."

"And I can read the transcripts when we are actually deliberating."

She looked at him considerately. Weighing the fuss he might make if they had a repeat of yesterday or if she let him go for a quick, subtle moment.

"Around the corner, be quick." Sherlock shrugged and slipped out as quietly as possible. Was it his well-ordered imagination? Or did the waitress looked at him with a vague recollection as he left the courtroom.

Sherlock really did not fancy spending any time in that horrible washroom, so he ducked into a hallway adjacent to the court and sat down on a chair, as if he was allowed to be there. Sherlock then became annoyed at missing the waitress' testimony, what if she gave a vital clue that only he could recognize as such? But as he had said to the aide, he could always read the transcripts.

His phone vibrated. Yet another rule he was breaking. Superstitiously looking around, he pulled it out and saw he had a new text message from Lestrade.

MURDER AT FIR-GROUND MOTEL THIS MORNING.

BUSY. –SH

YOU'RE TURNING DOWN A MURDER?

SEND ME PICTURES. –SH

Sherlock fidgeted in his chair. He truly wanted to leave and go investigate the murder. His way, not restrained by a bunch of useless rules he was forced to break to get anything done. But at the same time, he realized it would cause more trouble than he wanted if he went haring off now. When Lestrade did send him a picture, he was surprised to find himself grinning like the maniac he occasionally pretended to be.

There was a man lying dead, obviously fallen onto the armchair when he was stabbed. And the best part? He looked exactly like the man currently on trial for assault, stalking with criminal intent and murder, in the court beside him.

TELL ME EVERYTHING. –SH

IT'S BE EASIER IF WE TALKED IN PERSON.

I'D LOVE TO GO TO THE CRIME SCENE, HAVEN'T SEEN A DEAD BODY IN A WEEK, BUT I'M IN COURT AND UNAVAILABLE. –SH

COURT?

HAVEN'T YOU HEARD? I'M CURRENTLY SERVING AS A JUROR. –SH

THEN WHY ARE YOU ON YOUR PHONE?

BECAUSE THIS INFORMATION IS VITAL TO PROVING THE INNOCENCE OF A MAN ON TRIAL. –SH

I'M NOT EVEN GOING TO ASK.

JUST TELL ME, I CAN'T BE IN THE WASHROOM FOREVER! –SH

HE WAS FOUND BY THE MAN WHO LIVES NEXT DOOR, HEARD A FIGHT LAST NIGHT AND IN THE MORNING SAW THE DOOR WAS SORT OF OFF IT'S HINGES. COMING INSIDE, HE SAW THIS MAN WITH A KNIFE STICKING OUT OF HIS CHEST AND CALLED THE POLICE.

THIS IS IMPORTANT GEORGE, RUN HIS PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION AGAINST RECENTLY CONVICTED CRIMINALS. YOU'LL FIND A NEAR IDENTICAL MATCH FOR SOMEONE CALLED MARK TIMOTHY. THEN DO WHAT IT IS POLICE DO AND MAKE SURE WHOEVER RUNS THE TRIAL OF TIMOTHY VS. KEEN IS AWARE OF IT. -SH

BUT IT'S NEVER TWINS. AND IT'S GREG.

I HAVE TO GO NOW. COME BY 221B THIS EVENING TO TELL ME MORE. –SH

FINE.

WOULD YOU ALSO BUY A COPY OF THE LATEST YIRIN TAILBENDER BOOK FOR ME? –SH

DIDN'T PEG YOU AS THAT ROMANTIC VIGILANTE TYPE

OH WAIT, I DID

IT'S FOR A CASE. –SH

IT ALWAYS IS.

He had spent nearly ten minutes in the 'bathroom'. The waitress had to be done her testimony. Events were happening rapidly. If only the court procedures could move at the same pace.

Whoever had killed Leister just killed the Timothy actually involved.

And there was only one person left who fit that ever narrowing category.

How would he prove it? He needed to think. Wait. No time for that, someone was coming. Sherlock had a wed of lies to untangle, something he couldn't do from a holding cell. Conveniently.


	9. A plan

Here he was, back in court and getting ever closer to the time he would first have to deliberate with the people on this jury panel. Sherlock wondered how the case would go when Lestrade notified the proper people about the latest development. As his deductions stood, Keen snapped when her ex assaulted her in the alley and stabbed him. The man who was probably Mark Timothy's twin had been tailing Keen. He followed the two in the alley. Keen attacked him and he grabbed the knife out of her hand. He ran away. Keen had to cover up her role in the murder, so she switched the roles of the two men. She never expected the recently murdered man's look-a-like to turn up and be arrested.

It must have been evident that Timothy was not involved. He was however, a convenient scapegoat. So she must have used him to bring the charges against. Nevertheless, there was still a witness to her murder. So she went and, when she had the chance, killed the other Timothy.

Sherlock was bursting with a desire to tell his ever so clever deductions to someone. If John was here, he could tell them to him. But he wasn't. And whispering what had truly happened to the juror sitting beside him did not seem like a good idea. He would tell John and Lestrade this evening, he decided. While he was stuck in court, Lestrade could find evidence for him. And as much as he hated to admit it, Sherlock knew John helped him make his deductions all the more accurate.

Now all he had to do was sit through the repetitive witnesses testifying to Mark Timothy's whereabouts on the night Leister was killed.

And get through the first day of the deliberation process.

It wouldn't be so hard, all he had to do was listen to the idiots babble, then come up with some way to have the evidence to the fact that Ms. Keen was the murderer be presented to the court without getting himself arrested.

Easy.


	10. The jabbering Jury

"There will be sever repercussions such as contempt of the court charges, if you talk about what is presently discussed in this deliberation room to anyone not on the jury." The Court Clerk, now serving as a bailiff to ensure the jury was not interrupted told the eleven remaining jurors sternly. They all nodded.

"There is to be absolutely no online research about the defendant or the prosecution. In addition, you are asked to keep the details of the case to yourself. You must deiced whether the defendant is guilty or not of the three charges brought against him with the evidence provided. At this time it is suggested that you elect a foreperson amongst yourselves to guide the debate. Everyone must maintain a civil tongue. You are not required to reach a verdict today. The Jury will be honorably dismissed for the day at 5pm. You may call for lunch when everyone is hungry. Water is provided along with the transcripts of everything said in court so far. Deliberate fairly and honestly to reach a just verdict. Good luck."

With that the Court Clerk left the room. Leaving them alone, standing around a circular table and twelve semi-comfortable chairs. Awkward.

Sherlock huffed in annoyance, pulled out the nearest chair, and took a seat. That seemed to break the awkward moment and everyone sat down. They looked from one to another uncomfortably. No one wanted to break the silence. If he was ever going to get out of here, things needed to get moving.

"Right, so a foreperson needs to be elected. Who volunteers?"

No one volunteered.

"Why don't you be the foreperson?" Juror number one asked as he stared at Sherlock intently. As if he had seen him before.

"Because I don't like people."

"Then you'd be perfect for the job. You'll treat everyone with equal disdain." Sherlock thought about it. It made sense, sort of.

"Raise your hand if you think juror number twelve should be foreperson." One said. All hands were raised. Sherlock groaned audibly.

"Fine, if I really must be the foreperson, let's get on with it."

"Shouldn't we introduce ourselves first?"

"Are you foreperson?"

"No, I just thought that it might be a good idea."

"Alright then Robert Leren. Introduce yourself and tell us your job." Sherlock said sarcastically, remembering that he was the first name on the list of jurors selected. Robert looked flummoxed as he said,

"I'm Robert Leren, and I'm a marketing consultant." No one else spoke.

"Look, jury, if we are ever going to move on with our lives, you need to speak. This is supposed to be a debate! You with the hobby for acrylic painting, what's your name?" Sherlock cajoled.

"Um, I'm Ezzie Paul-Thyler and I'm a cashier. How did you know I painted with acrylics?"

"You reek of the high-end pigments you use and the cuff of you left sleeve has drops of blue acrylic paint from when you did a hasty touch up to a nearly finished painting before you left to come here to court. I know you use high-end paints because the color of the paint stain hasn't faded in the four hours or so since you came here. You don't make a lot of money, but what spare change you have, you spend it on painting supplies. And I know that because the receipt for one of the better quality art supplies stores is showing from your trouser pocket. It would normally be well above your means to buy from a store like that, but you work there and get an employee discount."

"Who are you?" Ezzie, along with the rest of the jury, stared at Sherlock in shock.

"Not my turn. Next!" Maybe he had gone a little too far with his deductions.

"Wendy Blanche, primary school teacher."

"Coal Emmet, pharmacist."

"Penelope Quilla, mail carrier."

"Ella Marini, I volunteer at Amnesty International in my retirement."

"Gavin Hofstra, occupational therapist."

"Kyle Croly, self-employed photographer."

"Jay Whitt, recently I was a florist."

"Olga Vorodomir, dance instructor." His turn.

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective."

"The Sherlock Holmes? The Consulting Detective?" Ezzie asked, giving his name and job title palpably capital letters.

"Yes." He said brusquely. Ezzie did not take the hint. Sometimes he enjoyed all the attention he got when he solved a case. Other times, his relative fame made it hard to work with others those times he was forced to.

"So then you already know what happened. And whether Mark Timothy is guilty or not."

"Perhaps." He said, non-committing. "But the nature of a trial by Jury is to have a just verdict delivered and come to by representatives of all parts of society. Therefore, much as it pains me, we must debate the question of Timothy's guilt."

"That makes sense."

"So, who believes they know what happened?" Jay raised his hand.

"Please this isn't school. And I'm only supposed to be directing the conversation. Just talk." Jay glared at him and cleared his throat.

"So, Keen is walking home from work and this creep Timothy assaults her. Her ex steps in to help her and he gets stabbed. Timothy goes into hiding, is turned in and Keen presses charges." Sherlock stared at him. Why did he keep on getting surprised at the obtuse nature of most people?

"Why would Timothy be stalking her?" Wendy asked.

"Betcha he wanted to kidnap her or something. Didn't you see her? She's hot." Jay answered.

"If you like blonds I suppose." Kyle added.

"Why else would someone stalk someone?"

"Or, maybe she owed him money or something. And he was waiting to corner her to get it back."

"If that's the case, surely she would have mentioned she was in a debt."

"Then he must have had a crush on her. Saw her break up with Reilster or something and then decided to take his chances."

Sherlock and Robert rolled their eyes at the same time. Robert face-palmed.

"Boys!" Ella barked. "Do try to keep level heads. Useless speculation is just that. Useless. We need to review the facts and go from there. Motives can wait. Right Mister Holmes?"

"Quite right." He said quickly. "Besides, you two are operating on the assumption that Timothy is guilty of all alleged crimes. You're biased because you believe that you already know what happened." Sherlock winced internally as he recognized the irony. He already believed Timothy was innocent. Had even gone so far as to put Keen down as the murderess. There was a difference he told himself. He had based his conclusions on facts. Now he just had to make sure the others inferred correctly from the facts presented to them.

"So." Ezzie said brightly into the silence. "Shall we review the transcripts?" They hastily agreed it was a good idea. Sherlock flipped to the part where Timothy's waiter witnesses' words were recorded. He had some reading to do.


	11. Inanities, headaches

An hour later Sherlock was confident he had a good working knowledge of what had been said in court. The witnesses the defense brought all gave consistent testimony to Timothy being in Phai's Thai at the time of the crime. Once the ice had been broken, everyone seemed eager to debate and to talk. Sherlock ignored it for the most part. He had read in a book on physiology (An attempt to understand the people he was surrounded with) that people were more relaxed in a familiar setting, and they were more open to considering rather uncomfortable ideas when in a comfortable zone.

So far, it seemed as if the jury had agreed that Keen was a good looking woman and if someone was stalking her, it would be because of her looks. That Jury service was an annoyance, and Sherlock was an arrogant bastard. Right on almost all fronts.

Thinking it was time they actually started to debate in earnest. Sherlock picked the one who had spoken the least, sitting there in relative silence flipping through the photos of Leister's body over and over.

"Olga. What do you know for a fact about this case?" Sherlock's voice cut through the chatter and everyone fell silent. The heavyset redhead looked up at him.

"Leister was killed on June 14th from a knife wound. Mark Timothy is charged with this murder. Keen identified him when he was brought in from an anonymous tip as the one to assault her." Olga said, greatly condensing the information.

"And Greg, I mean Gavin, what three charges are we to decide guilty or not guilty?"

"Murder. Criminal stalking. However, isn't all stalking criminal? Anyways, the other charge is assault."

"So how do we figure out his guilt?" Jay asked. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Or not guilt, whatever floats your boat." Jay added hastily.

"By asking the right questions."

"Like what?" Kyle wanted to know.

"Am I supposed to do your thinking for you? True it would greatly simplify matters; however, I am attempting to maintain a civil tongue here, so I shall do your thinking for you. For the moment, let's assume that Timothy was stalking Keen for whatever reason. That would make the most sense as to why he happened to be there exactly when Keen was most vulnerable to attack her. And let's also disregard the perfectly valid testimonies given to the fact that Mark Timothy was at a restaurant at the time of the crime. Furthermore, we shall ignore the fact that Mark Timothy does not have a limp. He is in the alley forcing himself upon Keen. Leister just happens to be coming along right as this is happening and engages Timothy in a struggle. In the process, Leister is stabbed."

"Are you being serious?" Jay asked.

"What do you think? Now look at the angle of the wound, it's neatness. What does it tell you?" Sherlock delighted in explaining his brilliance to others. He did not take as much delight in attempting to walk other's through his mental processes. Especially when a few of them seemed to be approaching Anderson's level of stupidity.

"Timothy is a knife fighter?"

"He doesn't have the right body to be a good enough knife fighter to stick someone so expertly."

"Luck?"

"He must have been stabbed when his guard was down!" Robert butted in.

"Precisely. And why would Leister's guard have been down?"

"He wasn't a good fighter?"

"Perhaps, but it is more likely that someone he trusted stabbed him."

"So Timothy and Leister knew each other!" Said Coal.

"Then why were they fighting?" Olga asked.

"They both wanted Keen." Robert added, swept along with the idea.

"Timothy assaulted her and Leister saw, then they fought. But Leister didn't really believe that Timothy would hurt him so he wasn't using full strength. The Timothy pulls a knife and stabs him!" Jay seemed satisfied with himself.

"But you missed the point of Sherlock's monologue; we were suspending disbelief for a moment to ask ourselves what would happen. But all of you have just assumed that Timothy is guilty. Forgetting the fact that he has a strong alibi!" Gavin said.

"Well, there were three people there, and one of them looked an awful lot like Mark Timothy." Coal protested.

"So what? Maybe it's Timothy's evil twin who has had an obsession with Keen for years and has only recently found her." Jay argued.

Sherlock lowed his head to the table and laced his hands over his head in frustration. He tried to get them to think with reason. Instead they went off into idle speculation. He now understood why trials went on so long. Jurors were not good judges. He might as well just suffer through and wait till the news of the real Timothy at the crime reached the court. Mark Timothy would inevitably be proven innocent of the murder and assault charges at the least. There was no true way to verify the charges of stalking. And then the case would be dismissed and become a cold case. However, that would mean letting Keen get away Scot-free.

He wouldn't let that happen

Someone could bring charges against her and bring her to justice. Yes, that was the way to go, get Timothy's name cleared, get out of Jury service without killing someone himself, and let other people take care of Keen.

If only his fellow jurors would think!

Someone elbowed him it was Penelope, the mail-carrier.

"Cheer up Sherlock . I've been on Jury service twice before. It's always like this, useless speculation at the start. Once everyone's exhausted themselves, then we can really start to think."

"I'm exhausted just listening." Sherlock mumbled. Penelope laughed and gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"Ow." Said Sherlock half-heartedly. He couldn't wait to get home.


	12. 5 o'clock

"So you mean to say that Mark Timothy is innocent of the murder and assault charges because he doesn't have a limp? How could you possibly tell that? Besides, what if he hurt his leg in the fight and it's healed now." Cole said belligerently in response to Sherlock offering another reason why Timothy couldn't have done it. Dinner had been called in an hour and a half ago, time could not move more slowly for Sherlock.

He had been so bored, he had even eaten a whole slice of pizza! He never ate on a case. By this point, everyone was just as exhausted as he was. The general consensus seemed to be edging near declaring Timothy innocent, but people still insisted for arguing for the sake of arguing.

At Penelope's suggestion, they had just finished watching the CCTV footage once more, (10 times now by his count.) to see if any other clues could be gathered. Nothing.

"His limp is obviously an old injury. See how he walks away only slightly favoring his leg. If he had injured it, chances are his limp would be much more pronounced. He hurries away barely paying attention to his uneven gait. This all suggests that his limp is an old injury. Possibly psychosomatic. Not able to tell. That is just one point in many as to why he is innocent."

"No one can tell that much from 5 seconds of video."

"I most certainly can."

"Whatever." Sherlock's patience was gone. He was attempting to be polite! He has been sitting in this chair for over four hours, talking circles around willfully obtuse people. He knew the facts of the case better than the lawyers did, judging from their poor presentation of the evidence. And to make matters worse, it was almost certain that they would reach no conclusion today. His only hope was for Timothy to be exonerated when word of the second murder got out. Not for the first time, Sherlock wondered what had provoked Keen to murder the two men. And just how had she conceived of the idea of murder by knife?

Keen did not seem like a hardened killer. (Then again Mary didn't either, at first) And killing someone at knife point was an intimate experience, not for the faint of heart. She must have suffered serious abuse from her boyfriend. No excuse, but it gave for interesting background to the circumstances.

He had amused himself at first by deducing everyone in under a minute. As time wore on, in such a close setting. Sherlock was sure he knew more about them than their closest friend.

If anything, today had provided an interesting venue for observing the forced interaction of individuals in close confines under more than a little pressure.

He had to keep telling himself that. Today couldn't have been a complete waste.

By now, everyone was ignoring him. The great Sherlock Holmes was not so mysterious after spending just under five hours in his irritated company. He was annoying at the politest. Apparently, deductions about someone's personal life were not welcome at all.

"Can the damn clock move any faster?" Jay complained, despite their antagonistic beginning, he and Kyle seemed to become friends of circumstance.

"Maybe if I smash it, we can say that time is messed up and it's time to leave." Kyle offered. Robert rolled his eyes, by far the most enthusiastic juror of the lot; he also possessed a level head and a commanding air. Not like Ella, the retired ex-nurse who commanded respect and sensibility by her sheer presence, but by reasonable arguments that even bone-heads like Jay and Kyle could wrap their stunted minds around.

"If you do that, you'll have to pay for it. And your finances aren't exactly up to spending £40 on a clock you broke for the heck of it." Sherlock said wearily. Jay and Kyle spoke at the same time.

"How did you know money wasn't so good?" and "You can seriously identify a clock's price by looking at it? Awesome." Sherlock had little respect for Jay, but he was the only member of the jury who did not look at him with a jaundiced eye. Sherlock shuddered to think what would happen if Jay ever found out about the ridiculous fan club, The Empty Hearse, that seemed to have formed around him.

"You're a self employed photographer. Not a lot of money there. I made a study of clocks and their pricing according to manufacture and country of origin for a case once." Usually people just told him to piss off after he gave obviously accurate deductions. But for some reason, be it boredom or sheer coincidence, (boredom most likely) his fellow Jurors seemed to delight in picking his every statement apart.

4:45pm. Fifteen minutes was never so long. People began packing up in anticipation.

4:50pm. Sherlock was pacing around the room, to the bemusement of the other Jurors.

4:55pm. Five more minutes. Move faster time! He would soon be free for the day.

5pm. Freedom! The Court Clerk/Bailiff opened the door and asked if they had reached a decision. As foreperson, Sherlock hastily said no.

"Then leave and speak to no one about what went on in the jury room under pain of repercussions. You will be notified when you must return to court tomorrow. Be on call."

"Yes, thank you very much. No tale telling. Got it. Can we go?" Sherlock said brusquely, breaking off the pompous man's speech.

"Well actually-"

"See you!"

Sherlock was the first to leave, hurrying through the halls to fresh air, coat billowing behind him, so fast was he walking to get out of this bore of a building.


	13. Domestic

Sherlock felt himself relaxing as he entered an empty 221b Baker street. He knew that John would be picking Rosie up from daycare, and Lestrade would come over anytime now. It was lovely to be alone, free of people.

Hanging up his coat, Sherlock flopped onto the couch with a contented sigh and adopted his customary thinking pose. He was surprised to find himself falling asleep. The transport was betraying him! It had only been three days since he last slept, he should be able to go for at least another two more. He got up off the couch and unlocked the safety lock on his chemical cabinet. John insisted it was not safe to have chemicals and body parts lying around where an inquisitive child could reach. As a result, Sherlock grudgingly obtained a cabinet with a child lock where he kept the acids, and in the freezer underneath, his latest treasure.

He took it out now. A whole hand. Stiff with rigor mortis. Molly would never notice it was missing. He wanted to find out if he could separate the skin follicles under the fingernails from the person this hand had clawed before it was severed, from the hand itself. After he was planning to strip the skin and test the bones to see their condition three days after death. Brittle? Supple?

Starting the experiment would be the perfect way to distract himself. Taking the hand out of the ice it was packed in; he laid it gently on the table and went to grab his microscope and petri dishes.

Sherlock was just finishing picking the dirt out from under the nails when the door opened.

"John." He said by way of greeting.

"Sherlock, mind grabbing Rosie? My hands are kind of full here." John said in reply.

"Coming." Sherlock stood up and went to where John stood in the doorway, Rosie was standing carefully beside him, holding his hand.

"Come here Watson." Sherlock said, beckoning her with his hand. Correction, a hand. He had quite forgotten about the severed hand he had been working with, which he was still holding.

"Sherlock, what did we agree on about body parts around Rosie?"

"That I wasn't to leave them lying about. I'm not, I'm holding the hand."

"Hand!" Said Rosie delightedly, toddling over to grab it.

"Don't hurt it, I still have to de-bone it!" Sherlock said, letting Rosie hold the hand.

"Sherlock!"

"It's quite well preserved. Don't worry, besides, Rosie loves it." Sherlock said, motioning to where Rosie was walking the hand on the ground, humming the opening bars to the itsy bitsy spider. John sighed and closed the door while dropping the diaper bag and Rosie's coat in a heap. He went to the kitchen.

"Sherlock! We're out of milk!"

"I was trying to see what process you needed to subject it to to make powdered milk. A few days ago. Really, I thought you bought some more."

"I've been busy, you're the one out all day at court."

"Not my fault. Besides, you didn't have to sit for five hours in a stuffy room talking inanities with frankly stupid people. Why there was this one person who…"

"Confidentiality. Remember? I really don't fancy bailing you out of jail or something because you blabbered about what went on in the deliberation room."

"Oh, Mycroft would do that. Besides, I'm fairly certain it would take the form of a fine." It was refreshing to engage with someone who was honestly annoyed with him for his actions, not his general personality.

"And now you're arguing with me because you couldn't ream everyone on the jury out due to the civil tongue order." Sometimes John was perceptive. Sherlock didn't deign to answer.

"Are you anywhere close to coming up with a verdict?" John asked at length, an olive branch in their so-far friendly argument.

"No. I know what happened of course, but the others do not see it. They will soon though." Sherlock answered.

"Please tell me you're not investigating the case."

"I'm not investigating the case." John groaned audibly and came out of the kitchen eating some toast.

"Want some?"

"No."

"Fine go and sulk. Just watch Rosie while you do it." John gave up. The consulting detective would eat in his own time.

Sitting in his chair and taking out his laptop, John began to type something. Sherlock sat on the floor in front of Rosie and watched her beat the hand against the leg of his armchair.

"Be nice to the hand, your uncle Sherlock still needs the bones intact." Sherlock smirked slightly when he noticed John's lips involuntarily twitch into a smile.

Someone knocked on the door.

"A client?" John queried.

"No, It's Lestrade, he's coming over to tell us about a murder that happened this morning."

"Connected to the court case?"

"Not yet." Sherlock said in a better mood. He did so love getting around rules, it was even better than breaking them. Cleverer.

"Come in!" He yelled suddenly. John flinched and Rosie started sucking on a finger of the hand in fright.

"What did you do that for?" John asked.

"Bored." Sherlock shrugged.


	14. It's not investigating per se

Lestrade entered the flat.

"Hi Greg." John said.

"Geoff." Sherlock said a moment later.

"John just said my name! How can you possibly get it wrong?"

"Well…"

"Is Rosie eating a hand?" Sherlock turned to look quickly at the toddler.

"Watson! No, don't eat the hand!" He cried, yanking it out of her hand and hastily wiping it free of slobber.

"It only took ten minutes for you to figure out that severed hands are not good for Rosie to be playing with." John observed.

"Now I'll have to deal with saliva in the data as well!"

Sherlock got up and flounced into the kitchen. Rosie started to cry as her toy was taken away.

"Here, play with this." John grabbed the first solid thing in reach and tossed it gently to his daughter.

"Is that my police badge?" Lestrade asked, coming inside and shutting the door.

"One of many." Sherlock said, coming back into the living room to sit on his chair. Lestrade considered yanking it out of Rosie's hands, but he really didn't want her to start crying again. Instead, he sat on the couch. The three men sat in silence, staring at Rosie who was happily admiring her distorted reflection on the shiny back of the badge.

"Do I want to know why the baby was playing with a severed hand?" The Detective inspector asked at length.

"No." John said quickly.

"But you do want to tell us about the body you found this morning at the Fire-Ground motel." Sherlock said.

"Right, well as I said in the text message." Here John turned to look reproachfully at Sherlock, who put on his most innocent of expressions. "A man was found stabbed in the heart in his motel room, to all appearances he had fallen back on the chair after having 5 inches of steel buried in him. Someone he trusted must have done it. A fellow lodger in the room next over noticed the door askew. He went inside to see if everything was okay, found the body and phoned the police."

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully.

"John, could you please find on the internet a list of rooms currently open for booking at the Fir-Ground motel?"

"Sure."

"It's interesting. Because a man who looked exactly like the murder one is currently on trial for murder. He stayed at the Fir-Ground motel before he was arrested."

"How would you know that?" John asked.

"He had a room key on his keyring; He was nervously playing with his keys during the trial."

"Have you found the list yet?"

"Their website says that all the rooms in the west wing are open, the east wing rooms have all been let out to long-term lodgers."

"And when is an east wing room open the soonest?"

"Two days from now. E18."

"Are any closed for repairs?"

"Why don't you just come and see for yourself?"

"I'm not supposed to be using the internet to research a case. You, however, don't count."

"Thanks for that."

"So does it say?"

"Um, E19 is closed for repairs."

"And that was the room our victim was found in inspector?"

"Yes, it was." Lestrade said.

"Okay, John, go to the promise section."

"The what?"

"The place where the motels and hotels guarantee cleanliness or friendly staff or other advertising lies."

"We at Fir-Ground want you to have a peaceful stay, before you come, our cleaning staff spends a full day preparing the room to be fresh and welcoming for your arrival. There are many parks within-"

"Stop, I have all I needed to hear."

"Do you know what happened?" Lestrade asked.

"I need to think." Sherlock stood up and began to pace. John and Lestrade looked at each other. Sherlock could spend a long time thinking.

"I'd offer tea but we're out of milk. I think we still have some coffee." John said.

"Sounds good." They stood up and went to the kitchen after assuring themselves Rosie was still happily engrossed with the badge.

When the two of them came back, they stopped short.

"Sherlock, why are you going through Greg's coat?" John asked.

"I got it!" He pulled a cheap paperback novel out of the inside pocket and waved it in front of their faces.

"You got the book. Good." With that Sherlock sat in his chair once more and opened the covers.

"Yirin Tailwind?" John laughed when he saw the title of the book Sherlock was reading.

"It's actually called the Silent knives." He said.

"Why did you have me buy that book? Not your usual cup of tea." Lestrade asked. Sherlock looked at him.

"To better understand someone's mind." He said in reply. "Let me assure you, were it up to me, I would not read a book like this, so ridden with plot holes for amusement."

"You're only on like the fifth page!" Lestrade protested. Sherlock sighed in his most condescending manner.

"Thank you Gam, you've been most informative. Talk amongst yourselves if you must. I'm going to my room to read." he swept out of the room, reading the book all the while.

"Gam?" Lestrade said after a frustrated pause.

"He's got a book of baby names, the G section shows evidence of frequent reading." John said with a smile.

Lestrade sighed in a markedly less condescending manner.


	15. Who needs sleep when you have murder?

Sherlock didn't come out of his room when Lestrade left.

He didn't come out for dinner.

John put Rosie to bed himself.

It wasn't unusual for Sherlock to retreat from people, but usually he did it in the main room, where John could keep an eye on him. As a result, John decided to go see what had happened to Sherlock when he heard the sound of something hitting the wall.

"Sherlock? What was that?" John called. No answer. He opened the door to see a most curious sight. Sherlock, curled up on his bed glaring at the book that lay with its spine cracked open on the far side of the room.

"Why John, why?" Sherlock asked plaintively.

"Why what?"

"Yirin just killed the only sensible person in the book! And now I have to wait a whole year to see what happens next!"

John laughed. "You mean to say, you actually enjoyed the book?"

"Of course not, but it did have a rather suspenseful feel to it. And I'll give the author this, she writes amazing murder scenes! It's fascinating the way she writes realistic plots to kill people." Sherlock said with injured dignity and repressed admiration for the mind that created ingenious ways for people to die. John walked into the room and picked up the book.

"Did you find what you needed for the case?"

"Not yet, I feel like I have the pieces to the puzzle, I just can't put them together."

"Well, you will."

"The process would be greatly hastened of you told me where you hid my nicotine patches." Sherlock said hopefully.

"They're gone, don't bother looking, you said you were going to quit."

"That was two weeks ago! I'm bored of quitting!"

"Then find something to occupy yourself! I'm off to bed." John said hastily, and then walked out of the room, shutting the door. He did was not sure he could resist withholding them from Sherlock if the detective turned the full extent of his double powers of persuasion and annoyance on him.

Hours later, Sherlock blearily got out of bed. Had he really fallen asleep? He looked at the clock. Four whole hours he couldn't account for. What was happening to him? Throwing on a robe, he went to the living room, only to be greeted by a most curious sight. John was sitting in his chair, eyes glued to a novel.

"Any good?" He asked casually.

"Bastard." John growled. Sherlock smirked and quietly opened his violin case.

"Me, or the antagonist who does her first truly horrific thing intended to turn all sympathy on the side of Yirin, representing the moral high ground?"

"The both of you." John responded. "I'm going to be so tired come work in the morning."

"Then stop reading." Sherlock said reasonably.

"But I have to find out what happens next!" John protested. They lapsed into companionable silence as Sherlock began to play one of his own compositions softly. The one he always played when trying to puzzle out a problem. At length, Sherlock stopped and tuned to John excitedly.

"I've figured it out!"

"What?" John asked automatically, still engrossed in the book. Sherlock began to pace the length of the room, violin in hand.

"Mark Timothy was staying at the Fir-Ground motel to write up his account of his time in London. However his identical twin brother turned up, he was in trouble and needed help."

"But it's never twins!" John protested.

"Shut up, I'm deducing here."

"Right."

"As I was saying, his twin came to visit. Mark Timothy had been holed up in his room writing, there was already a search out for his brother. Wanted of killing a man. His brother entered and the neighbor that found his dead body saw him. He immediately phoned the police and they arrested Mark Timothy, the one who had nothing to do with it. His brother escaped before the police came. Really, it was an ingenious plan.

"Mark Timothy had a solid alibi for where he was on the night Leister was killed. All they had to do was have his innocence proven while his brother, the one assumed to be the murderer went on the lam. Then the case would be closed, no further discussion.

"The two must have had an antagonistic relationship, but in the end, family is family and Mark Timothy agreed to become his replacement."

"I don't know the half of what you're talking about. I don't want to know, but once news of this reaches the court, surely all you'll have to do is catch Mark's twin." John said.

"Weren't you listening? Keen did it. Her abusive ex-boyfriend assaulted her. He was the stalker. She was scared of him, so she stared carrying around a knife. The exact some one her personal hero, Yirin Tailwind uses as her favored weapon. Leister pressed himself upon her and Keen stabbed him. The presently dead Timothy unwittingly witnessed this, and went to go help. Imagine his horror when Leister was already dead and Keen turned to him with a bloody knife in her hand.

"He used his superior strength to wrest it away from her, then ran away! It all fits!"

"Okay." John was hopelessly lost, but if Sherlock throwing around random names helped him solve a murder, he would listen.

"Keen was scared; she had a witness to her crime. She concocted a story, switched the roles around, to explain Leister's death. Imagine her horror when the police actually found someone who matched the description of her supposed assailant. She had to go through with it. Keen would have been in the clear, if she hadn't panicked. Assuming Mark Timothy would still be staying at the motel; she found his room and assumed his brother was Mark."

"Hold on, I thought you said Mark's brother was on the run?"

"What better place than right under our noses? So, she thought he was the witness, which he was. But he wasn't the brother in court. She used the surprise of her visit to stab him. A stupid move. It would only cast suspicion on her. Then this morning, she saw someone that looked exactly like the man she had killed, alive and well in court. She realized her mistake." Sherlock finished triumphantly. Grinning manically at having figured it out. John rubbed his temples.

"I really did not understand that, but you obviously do, so what are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing." Sherlock said succulently.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I'll make sure Greyer knows about this in time. But once Timothy is proven innocent, they'll have to open an investigation into the death of his brother, my duty as a juror will be over, and we can aide in that investigation! Acting like I just came up with what I just told you, thus getting Keen locked up from her crimes and nicely tidying up the mess." Sherlock gestured widely while talking, ever so pleased at his own cleverness.

"You really should not have told me this Sherlock."

"You don't count, I said that already."

"I still don't know whether I'm supposed to be offended or flattered." Sherlock was saved from having to reply when a cry pierced the air.

"You woke Rosie up!" John accused.

"Oops, look, just sit down and read or sleep or something, I'll deal with her." Sherlock said in reply.

"You will?"

"I just said I would; how hard can putting a baby back to sleep be?"

"She may have to have her diaper changed."

"Really John, I'm not incompetent, I can handle it."

"Whatever you say."

Sherlock walked with a spring in his step to Rosie's room, the strain of being a juror dissipated by the wonderful feeling he got when he solved a case.

(Not ten minutes later, John had to stop reading because a certain someone needed his help...)


	16. Mark Timothy's statement

In the end, he didn't have to go to court till the day after. All the jurors received a notification that a new development had come up in the case and the lawyers of both parties had petitioned to postpone the trial for a day to prepare their cases.

Of course Sherlock knew what the new information was.

John left Rosie with him, and Sherlock happily agreed that he would watch her. The day passed without major mishap. Rosie did color on the cupboards with permanent markers, and Sherlock ended up with the food from most of her meals on his clothes, but it was much better than court.

All the while, he turned the case over in his mind, internalizing it, examining it, he was nearly certain that the theory he had told John the other night was what had happened. And he knew that what he had told John he would do was the best course of action, but the more he thought about it, the more he dreaded deliberating with the jury once more.

Was there nothing he could do to get out of it?

Mrs. Hudson promised to watch Rosie the next morning. Sherlock's good mood had dissipated by the time he got into a cab going to Old Bailey. How would the lawyers twist the facts? And what would be the reactions of his fellow jurors? Questions, questions.

He took his seat in the juror's box without greeting the folk he had gotten to know two days ago. Now that they were known to each other, the faintest of whispers could be heard as the jurors gathered in groups to make small talk and discuss the case. Sherlock sat still, alone, itching to have the case opened for the day. Jay leaned over two empty seats to ask Sherlock,

"So, what do you think the new development is?"

"It's useless to speculate before one had all the facts. Assumptions get in the way of deduction." Sherlock replied, cautioning himself to keep a grip on his tongue.

"Right, but we don't have to deduce or whatever, us jurors just have to decide whether Timothy is guilty or not."

"Firstly, you would be incapable of proper deduction, second, to properly asses the facts, such as they are, one must make deductions, or at least reason to come to the proper conclusion." Sherlock said curtly, formally, hoping to stop Jay's idle questioning. He was not daunted.

"Okay, so what do you think?"

"Questions like that are best reserved for the deliberation process, no?" Olga interrupted, pushing Jay out of her way to take her seat one away from Sherlock.

"Right." Sherlock agreed quickly.

The courtroom was filling up. The defendant and prosecution arrived at nearly the same time. Timothy looked vaguely confused and Keen did not look like she had just stabbed a man in cold blood not three nights ago, but then again, if you could knife someone merely because they were an obstacle in your path to not getting arrested, chances are you would not be betraying signs of guilt and nerves.

"All Rise for the honorable Judge Simon." The Court Clerk commanded pompously. It was time for the rigmarole of court to begin.

"Right, so there has been a murder seemingly connected to the case of Timothy vs Keen. Two nights ago, a man matching Mark Timothy's physical description and revealed to be genetically identical to Mark Timothy, was found. Stabbed in the heart in his motel room. Records have revealed that this man was Peter Timothy, Mark's identical twin. Would the prosecution present their version?" Judge Simon sounded bored.

"Thank you your honor." The lawyer for the prosecution stated. He turned to face the jury. At least he got that part right, unlike the last time he presented the case.

"The Fir-ground motel, where Mark Timothy was staying, is the place Peter was found. In Mark's room. The cleanliness of the stab to the heart suggests that the murder was known to the victim. It is highly feasible that Mark killed his brother to throw suspicion off him. I believe that the defense has a statement from Mark Timothy himself, so I defer our turn to the defendant. Let them read their own words." Skillfully, if crudely deflected, thought Sherlock.

"Here is the statement that Mark Timothy gave the police about this particular murder. Clerk, if you would pass copies out to the jury, these are the words he told to the police, word for word."

"Me and Peter hadn't seen each other in years, He came to me a few nights ago, saying that he needed a place to stay. He wouldn't tell me what the trouble was. We had not parted on good terms, but family is family, so I let him stay in the motel. Then I was called to court for the murder of Leister and the assault of Keen. I had no knowledge of these events, nor Leister nor Keen. But I assumed that since I look like Peter, I was pegged for his crime. I had an alibi, I didn't do it. So I thought I could ride the case out, and Peter would be free. But then he was stabbed and killed. I swear I didn't do it, he was my brother, I would never do that to my brother. And I have and alibi for that night as well! I haven't been to the motel for the past few days, been living out of a hotel in London so Peter would have a place to stay. I never left my room all that night, the cameras can tell you that. So there, I can't believe that you would think I'd kill my brother, but I didn't do it. I'm innocent I tell you, innocent!

"End Quote." The defense Lawyer finished.

"Why're you grinning?" Olga asked Sherlock, who had a wide smile on his face.

"I was right for at least half of my deduction!" He said.

"What deduction?"

"Never mind. Forget I said anything." Sherlock back-pedaled.

"Shhh. The two lawyer people are going to pick apart the statement or something now," Jay whisper-shouted, earning him, not Olga and Sherlock, a glare from Judge Simon and a good half of the court officials.

"Sorry." He mumbled sheepishly.


	17. Legal fencing

"That testimony is undeniably biased, as who'd want to admit they killed someone." The defense lawyer said generously. "However, the testimony, combined with corroborating statements gathered from those who saw Mark Timothy that night present a solid case for my client's innocence. Jury, if you would look at the following pages in your booklet? You may read them at your leisure." A light laugh was garnered from those watching the proceedings.

Fancy words. Sherlock leafed through the six or so pages of high-quality printer paper, the pages faintly warm, therefore obviously printed recently. He quickly skimmed the testimonies. They all said more or less the same thing; that they had seen Mark go into his room and exit in the morning. During which time one could easily use to go to the Fir-Ground motel and back again. However, the schematics for the hotel, helpfully included at the back of the booklet indicated that Timothy's room had no windows. It was surrounded by other rooms, the only possible egress the door, and it seemed highly improbable that you could get eight un-truthful statements that agreed with one another on such short notice. Moriarty could have done it, along with a few other highly intelligent criminals, he had unmasked, but this was not some masterminded plot. This was merely uncovering who had stabbed another person, perhaps in self-defense, potentially premeditated. Not a large-scale conspiracy. Too bad, thought Sherlock. At least he would have had some fun while solving the case.

At length the majority of the jury indicated they were done looking at the 'evidence'. The defense lawyer seemed satisfied and sat down, a clear signal for the prosecution to continue prosecution.

"Keen has decide not to press charges against Mark Timothy, as she feels that this murder is indicative of a certain homicidal personality type, and should only provide further evidence that Mark Timothy is dangerous and guilty of manslaughter and assault. She does however ask the jury to consider this death as it is undoubtedly linked."

Debate time. The defense lawyer stood up and ever so slightly adjusted his wig.

"Your honor, I protest, the prosecution is manipulating the evidence when it is not officially linked to the case to influence the impartial judgement of the jury."

"And that is the lawyer's job is it not? To make the jury or the judge see things their way. You accusation will be removed from the records. Continue." Judge Simon said, sitting up straight when before he was slouching.

The defense lawyer looked uncomfortable then cleared his throat. Despite his dislike for the Judge (He did place Sherlock in a holding cell for impertinence, when he was only trying to help.) Sherlock had to hand it to him, that was a nice deflection and a clever way to get this snail-paced trial moving.

"So, you shall not be pressing charges but ask the jury to consider this murder as it is undoubtedly linked. Those were your exact words."

"Yes."

"I will concede the fact that it is connected in all probability. The method of death is the same, the victim is obviously related to my client and my client does confess to harboring his brother when he knew that he was mixed up in rather unpleasant business. However, there are some key flaws in your insinuation.

"Jury, if you would look at page seven, you shall see a complete map of the hotel, with Timothy's room highlighted as well as all possible points of entrance and exit within the whole building. The only way to get out of his room, which he was confirmed to be in all night, is through the door to his room. The cameras corroborate this and show no signs of tampering.

"A post-mortem report which shall be given to you momentarily shows that when Peter Timothy's body was discovered, he had not yet been dead for five hours.

"This is clearly not his work. I make no accusations as to who might be behind his death and Leister's, or even allege that the same person committed them. I do however say that Mark Timothy is innocent of this murder and the charges levied against him by Keen."

Sherlock clapped quietly, sardonically. What a show! In ever so many words, the defense lawyer had suggested that Keen was behind the murders, as if he had just concluded that. Sherlock's spirits rose a bit, and he studiously ignored the continuing legal fencing. He was right, had know before anyone else, now he just had to make sure that the Jury saw things his way. (And that they actually came to a conclusion.) Last deliberation day had served no purpose; this next session would not be in vain. Sherlock did not know how much more of court he could take before he snapped.

And he really did want those cold case files.


	18. A tidy conclusion

"Here we go again." Sherlock said to himself as he entered the deliberation room, last in the line of jurors who all hastily took their seats. The awkwardness of last time returned, and once more, time was spent looking furtively from person to person. Sherlock was determined to reach a verdict.

"People, listen up, we are going to read a verdict today. So, no idle chatter or tangents about how tattoos are wrong. We need to examine the facts and reach a conclusion." Blank stares.

"You all did elect me of you own free will as foreperson, so I'm bloody well going to be one."

"Why so invested all of the sudden?" Robert asked.

"If I have to be tortured by court any longer, I'll kill someone myself. So, in your opinion Kyle, is Mark Timothy guilty or innocent?"

"Er- I don't know. Guilty I guess."

"You guess? You can't just guess when reaching a verdict! All the evidence points to him being the innocent party in this!"

"What evidence?" Kyle asked. Sherlock groaned.

"The evidence the lawyers made a mess of presenting in court? The transcripts and post-mortem reports. The corroborating statements, remember that?"

"I wasn't really paying attention." Kyle admitted.

"Of course you weren't. Ella, you appear to be sensible, guilty or not guilty?"

"I think from everything we heard that it was the brother that killed Leister. Mark Timothy has a solid alibi, so I say not guilty of murder or assault. As for the stalking with criminal intent, we can't really prove he was stalking her, so we should ask to have that charge remitted as undecidable."

"Interesting." Now they were getting somewhere. Instead of attempting to explain his deductions, he ought to just let each juror talk so he could have an idea of where their opinion lay.

"I'd agree with Ella." Said Robert. "Mark Timothy has such good alibis. It's almost as if it was prepared ahead of time. But I don't think he would kill his brother. Who would do such a thing?"

Sherlock laughed.

"You'd be surprised Robert." He pulled up a mental list of cases he had solved that featured fratricide. Quite extensive.

"Ezzie?" Robert asked.

"Timothy is guilty of assault, or maybe his brother is. They look so alike they could easily trade places. As for the murder? No, it was manslaughter, killing someone during a fight is what manslaughter is, right?"

"The crime of killing a human being without malice aforethought, or otherwise in circumstances not amounting to murder." Sherlock told her absently.

"How would you know that?" Jay asked.

"I'm a consulting detective! I solve murders for fun. Of course I'm going to know the various ways the legal system classifies killers!" Sherlock told him, annoyed.

"Sorry, I forgot."

"And stop apologizing. Next person to give their inane opinion?" Sherlock cut him off.

"Inane? That's not very nice." Wendy said.

"Oh come now, you're a primary school teacher, you've heard worse on the playground. I am merely stating the facts. Now, what do you think about the case. Guilty, not guilty, unable to reach a verdict?"

"You're very rude." Wendy persisted.

"And you are not my teacher. What do you think?"

"Not guilty. His brother did it, maybe along with Leister. But it doesn't matter, because they're both dead."

"Yeah, they've already received their just desserts. Let's just say Mark Timothy is not guilty and get on with our lives." Coal added.

"We can't just say a verdict because we want it to be over!" Robert protested.

"Watch." Coal said.

"Raise your hand if you think Timothy is guilty of murder or manslaughter, whatever." He queried.

Two hands.

"Assault?"

Four.

"Stalking?"

One.

"Then we have a consensus. Can we tell the clerk?" Coal said briskly. What just happened? Everyone was nodding. Did Coal just end the jury process with a quick show of hands?

"That's not right. You are not allowed to tell others what you think is the correct verdict. It's supposed to be by anonymous ballot, so no one is influenced by the decisions of others." Robert protested.

"Fine, let's call for ballots. Everyone agree?" Nods of head. "Sherlock? You're the foreperson, ask the Clerk." Sherlock stared, in slight shock. They hadn't even gone over all the evidence! Now it looked as if to get things over with, everyone was ready to cast in their vote. Moreover, they all leaned towards Not Guilty, which Sherlock knew was the case. He smiled. If that was how things were going to go, who was he to stop such a tidy end to things?

"I'll go tell the Clerk."

"But we haven't reviewed everything!" Robert whined. Jay punched him in the shoulder in a not so friendly manner.

"So what? I'm ready to get the hell out of here."

"Me too." Agreed Kyle.


	19. Finally

This was not possible. Sherlock almost refused to believe it.

"What's the result then?" Coal demanded.

"5 guilty, 5 innocent and one that reads. 'I am unable to come to a decision as I believe we have not sufficiently gone over the evidence.' What more do you want to review Robert?" Sherlock knew full well who wrote that on their ballot.

"Well, for starters,"

"Hold on Robert, just how many votes in favor or against do we need to reach a valid consensus?" Coal asked.

"Typically it's 10-2. But as we only have eleven remaining jurors, a 10-1 verdict may be accepted."

"But if we can't reach that?" Wendy asked.

"Then it is declared a hung jury and the case will probably be scheduled for a re-trial with all new jurors. The ideal is to achieve unanimous decision. But, if after two hours today, we still have not reached a verdict, the judge will probably declare supermajority, which is where the voting rations come in." He answered promptly.

"Then we have to review everything to reach a consensus?" Kyle asked morosely.

"Oh yes." Robert actually seemed exited, everyone, including Sherlock glared at him.

"How are we doing this then?" Olga asked.

"Well. We could try what we did last time, let Sherlock ramble on and annoy him by asking questions when us ordinary humans do not understand his leaps of deductive reasoning." Wendy suggested. Sherlock stuck his tongue out at her.

"That was just childish." She chided.

"Fine then, you obviously know what happened, tell us all. Convince me."

"Stop it you two, we'll never get out of here if we engage in in-fighting. Why not instead of having everyone say what he or she think, we piece together exactly what happened?" Penelope intervened in a timely fashion.

"Right then, the facts." Sherlock started.

"As you see them." Wendy mumbled.

"Wendy. Sherlock, stop it, we are all frustrated, let's try to keep level heads." Ella commanded, and unlike when Penelope spoke, the two listened. Ella reminded Sherlock of his mother, whom he had seen all too recently for his liking, right after that horrible experience with his sister.

"Okay, if we're done with that, Leister was murdered in an alleyway. The only two people we know to be involved who left the alley were Mark Timothy, a man accused of stalking, assaulting, and killing Leister, and Keen a somewhat vapid receptionist who claims to have been assaulted and her ex-boyfriend appeared right on time to fight with Timothy to save her. We know that in the process, Leister was knifed, and promptly died. Timothy was caught leaving the alleyway with the identified murder weapon on camera. He was reported by an anonymous tipper to the police who arrested him. Now Keen has brought charges against him" Robert summarized nicely.

"However," Sherlock countered, "he does have a very strong alibi. Valid witnesses. Proof of being where he said he was at the time of the crime. And the other murder, not officially connected, of a man matching Mark Timothy's physical appearance was found dead, killed in the same way as Leister. Now, Mark may have done this one as well, but why? What did his brother have to do with any of this? Unless it was as Mark said, he was harboring his brother from some sort of unknown trouble. Namely, the knifing in the alleyway. In which case, the guilty party is dead and Mark is just the unfortunate innocent."

"I'll concede that does sound plausible, but why do you sound as if you do not believe that his brother did it? It has to be one or the other." Robert responded, settling into a role of devil's advocate, which he pulled off fairly well for someone of his intelligence.

"There is one person we are completely leaving out of the picture." Ella said.

"And that may be?" Sherlock asked, hope rising.

"The third person at the crime scene, Keen herself, We're so focused on Mark, that we are ignoring Keen. Why would her ex-boyfriend be following her? As he must have done so to be in the right place at the right time to intervene. And isn't it convenient how her boyfriend is dead now?" Sherlock fought hard to restrain a smile, Finally, someone was asking the right questions!

"Why would she want her ex dead?" Kyle asked.

"Well, it was could have been an abusive relationship." Sherlock started.

"Why would you say that?" Asked Robert.

"At the start, the lawyer mention she had checked into the hospital because she fell down some stairs. Who actually falls down stairs and gets injuries that severe that even now they are still bothering her? Falling down the stairs is one of the most common excuses for injuries sustained courtesy of someone close to you. You'd think by now people would come up with something else, but, the case stands. Why would the lawyer even mention that she injured herself like that, not during the assault? Why no injuries reported from the damage that she supposedly sustained from Timothy?"

"I expect you'll tell us." Wendy interrupted sarcastically.

"Yes I will. The lawyers were both obviously new to the game, just out of law school. Keen most probably mentioned that she 'injured' herself, before the assault, and they were not sustained during it. Now, the lawyer should have left this out, it had no bearing on the charges she is pressing. But if she did sustain the injuries at the hand of her ex, it would stand to reason that she was frightened of him. Perhaps it was not Timothy that was following her, it must've been Leister. She started carrying around a knife."

"So it could've been Leister who cornered her, and Peter or Mark Timothy saw it happening, and intervened!" Ezzie, who had been silent for most of the deliberation process blurted.

"Then one of the brother's stabbed Reilster!" Kyle said.

"Idiot. Don't you see what Sherlock is trying to make us see? He is saying that Keen stabbed Reilster when he assaulted her, and then turned on Timothy, who had entered the alleyway. Timothy grabbed the knife from her and ran!" Jay scolded. Well, that surprised Sherlock, of all the jury members, Jay was the last person he expected to make that connection.

"And then to cover up her actions, she reversed the roles and brought charges!" Ezzie exclaimed. "You're a genius!"

"A childish, stuck up ass with an over blown sense of himself more like." Wendy mumbled.

"Don't forget unpleasant, rude and obnoxious." He retorted cheerily, pleased that the jury was finally going in the right direction.


	20. Almost there

Two repetitive hours. Two long hours of reiteration of the same basic facts. Sherlock held the envelope containing the second vote with faint hope. Supermajority has been declared ages ago. (At least it felt like that.)

And now here was the second vote. They had talked about the case from every possible angle. Most seemed to be in agreement with him. If this didn't go through, the jury would be declared hung. And where would that place his careful plan to get Keen arrested?

"Just open the damned envelope." Coal chivied.

"Just a moment." He slowly opened the flap and quickly counted the votes.

Charge of manslaughter:

Guilty: 0

Innocent: 11

Charge of stalking:

Guilty: 3

Innocent: 8

Charge of assault:

Guilty: 4

Innocent: 7

"Well, the good news is that everyone thinks Timothy should be acquitted of manslaughter. Three say that he was a stalker and four say he assaulted Keen."

"So are we done?" Kyle asked eagerly.

"No." Penelope answered. "Timothy will not be charged with manslaughter. But we still have to come to an agreement on the stalking and assault charges."

"We've gone over this from every angle! How can we possibly determine if he actually was the stalker? Or assaulted Keen?" Ezzie griped.

"We can't prove the stalking charge." Robert said. "But I do recall reading somewhere that if a jury is unable to reach a decision; they can ask to have the charge remitted on lack of evidence. What harm did the stalking do, except to frighten Keen? A rather flighty person. So if that was approved, all we'd have to deal with is the assault charge."

"Raise your hand if you think this is a good idea." Wendy interjected.

"Seriously? This isn't school." Sherlock complained, but raised his hand all the same. Anything to get away from the other jury members. All hands raised.

"I'll go notify the Clerk then." Sherlock said, "I am after all the foreperson." He stood up, glad for a chance to stretch his legs.

Knock. Knock.

The Clerk opened the door, to all appearances he had not moved since Sherlock last saw him a couple of hours ago.

"Has the jury come to a decision then?" (Poorly disguised eagerness, shift ending soon.)

"On the charge of manslaughter. We are unanimous in out decision that,"

"Don't tell me! You will sully the decision. You must say what the jury has decide in court."

"Fine. We can't come to an agreement on the charges of stalking and assault. We ask that the charge of stalking be remitted on the basis of not enough evidence and ask for options we may take as the assault charge is unable to be agreed upon." Sufficiently pompous for the Clerk's liking? The Clerk seemed surprised that someone on the jury had even brought up the lack of evidence stipulation, but he recovered quickly.

"The judge will decide that question and what actions you may take about the assault charges. We ask that the jury remain in the deliberation room and is strongly encouraged to come to an agreement about those charges."

"And how long might that take?"

"Oh, it depends, no more than half an hour."

"Lovely." Sherlock hissed in annoyance and shut the door in the Clerk's surprised face.

"Well, what did the Clerk say?" Ella asked.

"The jury, meaning me, must deliver the verdict in court. The Clerk will ask the judge about whether the stalking charge can be remitted and we all are 'strongly encouraged' to come to a decision about the assault charge."

"So how long will that take?" Jay asked.

"The Clerk said no more than half an hour."

"Meaning at least another forty five minutes." Penelope said sagely, morosely.

"So in the meantime, what do we do?" Jay asked.

"The same thing we've been doing all bloody day, deliberate and talk in circles." Sherlock said.

"Sounds fun." Robert announced, faint sarcasm.

"As fun as triple murder." Sherlock agreed, sitting down.

"Why would you enjoy that?" Robert asked, genuinely curious.

"I was continuing the sarcasm. but in seriousness, a triple murder generally means a serial killer. And serial killers, though always so unoriginal in their motives, add wonderful tension to a case."

"So you're happy when someone is killed?" Wendy demanded.

"I enjoy figuring out how someone died. I mean, they're already dead, why not get excited about finding the murderer?"

"That's sick." Wendy said.

"Caring doesn't bring people back, you would know."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, obviously someone close to you was killed and you're still bitter about that." Sherlock started to deduce.

"How do you know that?" Demanded Kyle.

"Well,"

"Have some restraint Sherlock." Ella admonished and to his surprise, he stopped. Why did he stop talking? Wendy was like an open book, deducing her for everyone would be such a welcome distraction. Later, he would come to the conclusion that Ella reminded Sherlock way to much of his mummy.


	21. The Verdict

The Court Clerk entered the deliberation room and was not surprised to see everyone there sitting in sullen silence. Glaring. All eyes turned immediately to him when he opened the door. The Court Clerk cleared his throat.

"Judge Simon has asked all parties and given your query due consideration." Here the tall man who insisted on wearing his coat snorted disdainfully.

"He says that the charge of stalking will be dropped. The Jury may call for lunch at this time. The question of assault must be determined today or else the jury will be declared hung."

"And is that such a bad thing?" Juror ten, the Russian one demanded.

"The plaintiff might still press charges. However, it seems that they mainly want the defendant convicted for manslaughter. If you do not determine the verdict, you will force the court to call up another jury, increase lawyer bills and subject twelve new people to this experience." The Court Clerk appealed to their sense of empathy. This was the thing he hated most about his job, dealing with the jury. Twelve or eleven people with next to no knowledge of the law, in close quarters who have no desire to be there does not make anybody easy to manage. Yet manage them he must.

"As long as I get out of here soon, I couldn't care less about the problems of a re trial." A twenty something man, slouched in his seat, Juror number eight said.

"Then sir, I suggest you and the rest of a Jury come to a decision and soon!" Not good, his affable mask had slipped, betraying irritation. Juror number seven woke up from a doze with a start.

"We're trying." Seven said.

"We're? You haven't said a word this whole time Gavin!" Twelve said sharply.

"Nothing to say."

The Court Clerk coughed delicately; he had no wish to become involved with the inevitable in-fighting of the jury.

"Shall I send for lunch?" Nods all around. Perhaps food would get the jurors in a better frame of mind. Message relayed and received, The Court Clerk left the deliberation room, already anticipating the end of his shift. At the rate this jury was going, he'd have to go into overtime.

"Salad and breadsticks. Yum." Jay said morosely.

"Much better than pizza." Said Ezzie.

"At least pizza tastes like something." He mumbled. Sherlock sat and stared at his serving. He really did not want to eat.

"You eating?" Kyle asked from a breadstick stuffed mouth. He was already a quarter of the way through his salad and was avariciously eyeing Sherlock's.

"Yes." He did not want to share with Kyle. To prove his statement, he even took a bite of salad leaves. Ella looked at him disapprovingly.

"Eat, it will put you in a better frame of mind." She said.

"Actually, I think better on an empty stomach."

"You're skin and bones; you need to keep your strength up."

"Now you sound like Mrs. Hudson and my mummy." He said under his breath. All the same he took a bite of a breadstick.

"Good." Ella seemed satisfied with her bullying.

"So, how will we decide the assault charge?" Robert asked, waving his fork in the air for emphasis. "The sooner we decide, the sooner we're out of here."

"The thing is, unlike the stalking charges, we have more evidence that Keen was assaulted. By Timothy or Leister, that is the question. If Timothy was the perpetrator, things couldn't have gone very far. Or else Keen would be pressing charges of rape."

"He could have just been beating her up, not like- wanting to um," Jay stammered. As one everyone turned to look at him.

"And alleyway, the two of them, an abusive boyfriend or a potential stalker, in the evening. Yes, he probably just wanted to beat her up." Wendy said, skeptical sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"It does seem the more likely scenario. But she didn't press charges of attempted rape, just assault, many meanings can be taken from that. And if we're all agreeing that it was more likely Leister in the alleyway and Timothy intervening, then it could very well be him beating her up in revenge. We know that Leister was abusive. It would fit what we know of him" Sherlock said, bored mind kicking to life again.

"But it could have been abuse of a sexual nature." Penelope said.

"Maybe, I don't have enough data to know for certain."

"This is all beside the point! It wasn't rape, we don't know what could have happened because it didn't. The question we have to ask ourselves is this; are we willing to let Timothy go to jail when he might be innocent? Whoever did it just roughed Keen up. Now, I'm well aware how traumatizing that can be, but we have to consider the consequences of our verdict." Ella took control of the conversation swiftly.

"She's right you know." Coal backed her up. "Should we take the chance to send a potentially innocent person to prison? Or let him go when he might be guilty, and assault someone else?"

"What isf we were to acquit him, and he did do something along this line, and did it again? Then he would have this record against him when he was brought to court once more." Jay said.

"That made no sense whatsoever." Gavin spoke up, arms crossed over his chest.

"So are you saying we should let him go, clear him of all charges because he is likely innocent. As a result, he will be on police record if he does assault or kill someone in the future?" Sherlock asked. They wouldn't listen to him, fine, he would make them think it was someone else's idea.

"Yes, exactly!"

"If we did that we'd be out of here. Jury duty would be over." State the obvious Olga.

"All in favor?" Sherlock demanded quickly, before the momentum wore off.

"Eleven in favor of acquitting Mark Timothy of all charges. It looks like we have our verdict folks." Sherlock smiled genuinely.

"But what about Keen, who was probably the murder. And what about who killed Peter Timothy?" Robert asked. Grins slipped off faces.

"Oh, I've got connections with the police. We've only cleared one suspect. The investigation into Peter Timothy's death is still ongoing, and somewhere Keen will have slipped up."

"So you're going to find who truly killed the two men?" Wendy asked skeptically.

"I already know who, all I have to do is find evidence."

"And you won't be bound by the rules of a jury!" Ezzie exclaimed.

"Obviously. Now, if we all agree. The verdict will be not guilty on all charges."

No one said nay.

Jury Duty was reaching it's end.

"I'll go talk to The Court Clerk, no doubt he'll be pleased to hear we reached a decision." Sherlock announced decisively. There was a spring in his long gait, true freedom was coming ever nearer, and he hadn't gotten himself detained during the jury process!

Mycroft would have to give him those cold cases.


	22. The Verdict, open to argument

The announcing of a verdict from the Jury was not an enviable task. One person had to stand up, stand out among twelve largely forgettable people, strangers, who had decided the defendant's fate. Sherlock was told all he had to do was respond guilty or not guilty to each of the charges Judge Simon would read. Sit down again, Jury Duty over. Simple.

Everyone involved was gathered in the court, taunt silence. Timothy looked nervous, he shifted in his seat and his Lawyer bounced his left leg ever so slightly. (Worried, outcome of case important to career.)

For Keen's part, she was outwardly calm and collected, but Sherlock could just make out shifting eyes, never resting on one place for long.

He didn't know what he felt, and Sherlock was not accustomed to examining his feelings. Or even having any. Other Jurors had voiced reservations about even coming to a verdict. Who were they, after all, to judge?

Sherlock was more than happy to judge, he did it every time he determined who was the killer or the criminal. That didn't bother him. Robert had said in passing that he was glad he was not foreperson, for Keen was likely to hold a grudge against whoever delivered the verdict. Much more criminally gifted people had it out for Sherlock. Nothing new here.

What really bothered him about having to serve on a Jury was the constraints. The way he was impeded in his investigation by these useless rules. No access to the internet, or phones. (At that, he casually slipped a hand in his pocket to reassure himself his phone was on silent.) He couldn't even talk to the witnesses for goodness sake! There was no body, no crime scene for him to investigate. Just the washed details of the crime those idiot Scotland Yarders had seen fit to give to the court officials.

Not to mention the boredom.

John would have said that this was a valuable experience, he now had working knowledge of what happened after a 'criminal' was accused. After he, Sherlock Holmes, discovered whodunit. Then John would proceed to tell him that he would never know what information would come in handy someday, so he should really stop deleting important facts from his Mind Palace like the Solar system or who was the current Premiere.

But John wasn't here, and as soon as Sherlock delivered the verdict, he would delete the whole experience.

Yes, that was the thing to do.

"All rise for the Honorable Judge Simon." The Court Clerk announced. Sherlock stood up along with the rest of the Jury. Formalities ensued and Sherlock tuned out, instead reviewing the details of the case and creating a completed, coherent picture of what he had deduced about this situation.

"Jury, have you reached a verdict?"

"Of course we have." Sherlock said under his breath as he stood up and adjusted his suit, which he wore underneath the coat he had refused to stop wearing out of spite.

"Yes your Honor." He said audibly.

"Judge Simon will now read the charges and you shall answer guilty or not guilty. As this is a trail involving murder, you are required to state whether this was a unanimous decision or one of supermajority." The Court Clerk told them once more. Sherlock nodded his head impatiently.

"Mark Timothy had been charged with stalking Keen with criminal intent. How do you answer?"

"Not Guilty. Unanimous." Here Judge Simon frowned.

"Mark Timothy has been charged with killing Leister in a fight over Keen in an alleyway. How do you answer?"

"Not Guilty. Unanimous." His frown turned into a scowl. Interesting, Judge Simon obviously was behind Keen. Sherlock wondered briefly what the decision would have been if this was not a trial by Jury when he was cut off.

"What? How can you think that? Timothy killed my ex!" Keen yelled. All eyes turned to her, her semblance of restraint was gone and she trembled wildly. Her Lawyer whispered something to her, but she shoved him away.

"I don't want to sit down! I want justice! Timothy assaulted me! And he killed Leister! However can you say he didn't do it?" She was working herself into hysterics. The aides approached Keen who had stood up and turned to glare at Sherlock.

"You. I know you, you're the consulting detective! Skilled at deduction or something. If Timothy didn't kill Leister, who did? He is the only possible choice." She pointed a nail-bitten finger at Sherlock.

"Some detective you are." She continued as her Lawyer attempted to guide her back to her seat. Sherlock knew he should remain silent. But he would not take an insult to his work like that standing down!

"There is one other option you know. There were three people. One did not make it out alive. That leaves two. We the Jury have determined that Timothy was innocent. Think about that for a moment, Miss. Keen, who is the only possible choice now?"

"Juror number Twelve, that is enough! Take your seat!" Judge Simon commanded.

"How dare you suggest such a thing of me?" Keen said, voice suddenly calm.

"Well, the clues all point towards you. The most telling thing is the angle of the wound that killed Leister. It was an upward thrust you see, Leister and Timothy are both taller than you. It would make much more sense for Timothy to knife him from above, where you could never reach or get enough force behind your thrust to successfully pierce his heart. Then there is the matter of Timothy's twin, and I'm sure once the report form Forensics gets back to m- Scotland Yard that it will give further-"

"The angle of a wound seriously?" Keen scoffed and made as if to approach Sherlock, who leaned over the railing and stared at her intently, wondering what he had just done.

"Security!" Called Judge Simon. "Detain Juror number Twelve, the mouthy one and Keen until she has calmed down. The Jury is honorably dismissed, aside from Twelve here, and you are commanded to never speak of what went on in the deliberation room to anyone. If anyone cares to attend, the sentencing will be in two days time once this mess is sorted out. It will be open to the public. Thank you all." He rushed through the formalities as Sherlock was manhandled out of the courtroom, despite the fact that he offered no resistance.

Sherlock wondered how long it would take Mycroft to find out about his actions.

He also wondered just how annoyed Mycroft would be.


	23. Brother mine

He sat and waited.

Bored.

Why did he do that? Stupid, stupid. Now he was here, cooling his heels at Mycroft's pleasure. Mycroft would be annoyed and John who would be disappointed in him. The cell was bare, with a bench as it's only adornment. Obviously a holding cell, the type of cell Sherlock was all too acquainted with.

He wondered what the consequences would be. Only now he acknowledged that he probably should have informed himself of the does and don'ts of Jury Duty.

Bored.

An hour passed, two hours, three. He alternately paced and fidgeted. He needed stimulation!

Footsteps in the corridor. Step-step-click. The unmistakable foot fall of Mycroft and his umbrella seemed too loud to his sound-deprived ears. The viewing hatch opened and Mycroft peered through, visage in a formidable scowl. Sherlock stood up and approached the hatch, almost unwillingly.

"Hello brother-mind, you're in a lot of trouble."

"Aren't I always?" Sherlock shrugged belligerently.

Mycroft sighed.

"I had to leave a very important board meeting to talk to you."

"Then you're in luck, because now you won't be bored."

"Word games? What has Jury Service done to you?"

"Oh, let's see, bored me out of my mind? Made me sit for hours on end with bores? Forced me to conclude a verdict with minimal evidence, boring my point into the other Jurors?"

"Evidence which you seem to have no problem circumventing."

"I didn't do any research!"

"Yes, you made John browse the internet and took Miss. Watson to a restaurant that the defendant used in his alibi. Are you aware of the consequences of doing exterior research while on a jury? A fine of a minimum of three on the standard scale, and or up to three years in jail?"

"Not all of us are the British Government. What do you mean standard scale?"

"I never thought this day would come, you admitting you don't know something!" Mycroft smiled, just a bit.

"There's plenty I don't know, because it's not important."

"The standard scale is merely a way to determine the proper amount to fine someone. A 3 would amount to just about 1000£."

"But you'll get me out of here."

"It would not do to have a family member in jail. Bad for my reputation." Mycroft dithered.

"And what about Erus?"

"She doesn't legally exist." They shared a moment of silence for their sister was still a very sore point between the two.

"Fine, what do I have to do to get you to get me out of here?" Sherlock abandoned all pretenses of dignity, clearing his throat. If he spent very much longer here, he would go mad!

"Oh, I have a few cases in mind. Legwork, you'll like them." No getting out of this, Sherlock settled for a glare.

"So when can I get out?"

"You have to understand that there is very little precedent for your case. Most jurors are placed under scrutiny because there have been allegations that they made a biased decision, researched the case on the internet, gone to a place directly involved in a trial, sound familiar?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've been a model juror." Sherlock stated. His older brother held his gaze meaningfully.

"Yes, you would never do something like that." He said at length. Sherlock smirked.

"As I said, there is very little precedent, however, for a juror getting into a yelling match with the prosecution."

"It wasn't a yelling match, I was merely explaining to her in a forceful manner how I came to know that she was actually the perpetrator." Mycroft chose to ignore his feeble justifications. They both knew Sherlock had truly stepped over the line this time.

"At best, you'll be released within a day or so with only a fine."

"At worst?"

"Judge Simon really does not like you. He would be well within his rights to insist on community service."

"What? That would be over the top."

"A few days spent picking up trash in local parks doesn't appeal to you brother-mine?" Mycroft smirked. Sherlock fumed, why had he reacted that way? Now Mycroft would surely find a way to make him do just that.

"Patience, you'll be on parole soon." Mycroft said from the moral high ground as he backed away from the viewing hatch.

"I've arranged to have you transferred to an overnight cell."

"Can you get John to visit?" Sherlock was grasping at straws, anything to stave of the boredom that even someone with Anderson's IQ could predict.

"Only family members are allowed to visit. You know that Sherlock."

"But John is family."

"Not in the eyes of the law." He had him there.

"Think of something. You won't have me in a good frame of mind to solve those cases if I'm crazy." Mycroft didn't answer him and instead looked at his watch.

"I've got a meeting to go to; I'm already late as is. Stay patient and remember, this is all your fault."

Sherlock offered him a rude hand gesture in response. Mycroft shook his head and left Sherlock alone, footsteps getting fainter.

Bored.


	24. manipulation out of boredom

"Here we are!" A security guard delivered dinner to his slightly more comfortable cell. Sherlock was irritable with inaction. He quickly deduced the guard and smiled rather nastily.

"I can't speak, but aren't guards supposed to be sober while on duty?" The guard looked from side to side nervously even though only Sherlock and herself were in the cell.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She unconsciously stated to breathe faster.

"You're shift changes soon, but you just couldn't wait."

"For what?"

"Your next fix."

"My next fix? Don't be silly."

"Oh, come now, I know the signs of morphine addiction. Let's see, you were diagnose with dyspnea what- two, three months ago. Morphine was perscripted, you became addicted."

"Dyspnea, how could you possibly know that?"

"Well, you became short of breath when I mentioned the fact that you're high right now, so partly psychological, but also the fact that you were short of breath when you entered my cell having only to walk up a ten meter hallway reached by three steps from the guard post. You just confirmed my deductions."

"Alright, fine, I'm on morphine right now."

"And happen to be addicted, using it far more frequently than for it's medical purposes. Frankly, I'm surprised you've hid it for this long, security being what it is. All the same, you might want to consider finding a new job."

The guard was breathing heavily as she retreated from Sherlock. He looked at her innocently.

"You're lucky I'd get in more trouble if I pushed passed you and escaped the building through that broken fire exit than if I just waited here. So, you don't even really need to guard me."

"Bastard." She growled and left the cell, slamming the door. Sherlock sat on the bed and filled the incident away in his mind palace. He stared desultory at his meal and attempted to eat, there was nothing else to do. Food half eaten, he stood up and began to pace.

Bored!

This was useless. How long would Mycroft make him wait? He flopped on the hard bed and attempted to enter his mind palace. He was too keyed-up. Sherlock really could have used a nicotine patch, but, he didn't have any and John was making him quit once more.

John, he was honest enough to admit that he missed his friend, and even Rosie. The other times he had been in jail weren't as hard as this, because he was either too high to care about boredom or John was with him. In this situation, he was entirely alone. He thought about Rosie and wondered if John would tell her he was in jail. Not that she would understand but for some strange reason John worried about those sorts of things.

Sherlock even gave some thought to the other Jurors, free to resume their lives. Unlike him.

It would be a long night.

In the morning, the same guard came to deliver breakfast, it had been a day since he was detained, and Sherlock was reasonably certain that he would be released very soon. But the problem remained that he had nothing to do.

"Good morning to you." He greeted the guard with a fake smile. She glared at him.

"Still working here then?"

"What do you think Mr. Detective?" She said in a mocking tone.

"Look, I won't tell anyone, I promise." He could make that in good conscience. Within two days, even the most obtuse would see that his guard had a serious problem. Then the drugs would be discovered.

"How do I know you'll keep your word?"

"You don't, but I would be much more inclined to keep my big mouth shut if you were to bring me a book or something like that next time you check in on me." His face was beginning to hurt from looking so innocent he must be guilty.

"Just eat your meal." Once more, the guard left his cell, breathing heavily.

When a new guard came in to deliver lunch, a Yirin Tailwind book accompanied the food.

"Someone sent you this." He said.

"Thank them for me will you?" This guard was much more competent than the female who worked the night shift; he nodded smartly and left.

Mid-afternoon, the door opened once more. Mycroft's assistant Anthea stood in the doorway.

"You coming or what?" Even now she was texting on her phone. Did the woman ever go anywhere without it?

"In a moment." Sherlock leisurely marked his page and stood up. Anthea looked at the book curiously.

"How did you get a book in here?"

"I promised not to tell." He winked and the no-nonsense assistant rolled her eyes.

"The car is waiting."

"Took you long enough." Of a sudden, he used his long legs to good advantage and overtook Anthea so that she actually had to look up from her phone to keep up with him. Freedom at last.

He sat beside Anthea and stared out of the window, at anything other than his brother, seated across from him. Evidently he was waiting for Sherlock to make the first move.

"Fine, what where the terms of my release?"

"I had to pull in a number of favors." Which really meant that Sherlock owed him a big one. "And you're released from further scrutiny provided you pay a fine of 1000£ for contempt of the court. A juror speaking during court is just not done. You're lucky that was the only rule you breached." Here Mycroft coughed ever so slightly. Sherlock smirked.

"So I'm done with jury service now?"

"Well, unless you want to attend the sentencing tomorrow, which was postponed because of you, you're time of service is over and you're free to resume you're normal life."

"Great." That was the closest Sherlock would ever come to a thank you Mycroft's actions.

The rest of the ride home was spent in silence.

Sherlock had never been so happy to see 221B.


	25. Resolutions and Regrets

Sherlock came into 221b as John and Rosie were leaving.

"Going on a walk?"

"No, we're going to the moon."

"I'm joining you."

"Nothing I can do to stop you." John was angry, very angry. Sherlock matched his pace to theirs as they left the flat.

"Oh, Sherlock, glad to see you're out of jail." Mrs. Hudson called as she emerged from her part of the complex.

"Not as much as I am to be out." He responded under his breath.

"What did you say? I didn't hear." Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Nothing of importance, see you!" He left the building, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be with John and Rosie.

John lingered in the doorway.

"Don't be too mad at him dear." Mrs. Hudson told him kindly.

"We'll see." John took Rosie's small hand and went to join his flat mate; it was a mark of how agitated he was that he didn't stop to say goodbye. Mrs. Hudson stood in the hallway for a while longer, no doubt in her mind that her boys would get things sorted.

Rosie babbled happily at everything she saw, trying to name everything. John patiently repeated the right word, proud of his daughter. Sherlock walked beside them, hands in his pockets, withdrawn, glancing out of the corner of his eye at John from time to time as if John didn't notice. Despite his cheerful countenance for Rosie, his frustration at the actions of Sherlock increased.

They sat down on a bench in the nearby park to give Rosie a rest.

"Well, what's bothering you?" Sherlock broke the silence. John snorted, trust Sherlock to make it seem like he had a problem, not him.

"How about the fact that you got yourself arrested? While in court?" Sherlock seemed genuinely puzzled as to why that would be a problem.

"I'm out now, and aside from the sentencing tomorrow, done with Jury Duty. I'll admit that being in that holding cell was mind-numbingly boring, but luckily there was a nice guard who gave me a book." At this Sherlock patted his pocket where the outline of a paperback could be seen. John sighed incredulously. Was it possible for anyone to more self-absorbed than Sherlock?

"And it's not the principal behind it; we've been arrested numerous times." Sherlock continued.

"You're forgetting that there is a big difference in both of our lives now."

"What?" Good Lord, John had to spell everything out!

"Rosie!"

"Oh, right." Sherlock looked at the girl who was happily eating an animal cookie, chubby legs swinging from the bench seat.

"It's not just us anymore. There's Rosie. I understand Jury Duty, it's unavoidable, but you could have avoided that side-stop in jail if you had stopped to think about it for a moment. It was your day to watch Rosie; I had to take a day off work to watch her instead. And we can't just keep getting Molly to watch Rosie. I already used her so much after Mary died!" John paused for a moment to collect himself. Sherlock had the grace to look the slightest bit shamefaced.

"I suppose I could have considered my actions more before I started to argue with the prosecution." Sherlock admitted reluctantly. "I never meant to adversely affect Rosie, or you." He added as an afterthought. "I just didn't think about anyone else."

"Obviously."

"Look, John. You're my best friend, not only that, but I truly want to help you with your daughter. I would never willfully neglect Rosie. I'm- sorry." Sherlock forced the last words out of his mouth as if they tasted bad.

"I know that idiot." John responded, but not without fondness. It was a rare event indeed when Sherlock apologized for something, or called him his best friend.

Sherlock smiled, sensing things were once again back to normal between them. Well, as normal as their relationship ever was.

"So, my time as a juror, serving the country with my wisdom and powers of deduction is now over. For at least three years." He decided to change the subject. Despite John's rightful anger, Sherlock could see a faint smile threatening to break free from John's stony countenance.

"Good thing for that. Two hopeful clients came today asking after you."

"Anything interesting?"

"One suspected affaire."

"Boring."

"And the other a robbery."

"Even worse! There has to be a good murder mystery somewhere." Sherlock complained.

"What about the one you were just involved in at court?"

"That was hardly a mystery, casual perusal of the facts quickly brought the truth to light. But this was not my usual case, oh no. This time there were rules."

"Which you did not hesitate to break when it was convenient."

"Not my fault they were stupid."

"Right."

"The real problem was convincing the other jurors. People are so stupid! They insisted on going over every detail with a fine toothed comb. Maddening. At any rate, all I have to do know is attend the sentencing and this horrible episode of my life will be over."

"I thought the sentencing was optional."

"It is, though it only seems right to finish things completely, and hearing the official verdict read by that horrible Judge Simon seems like the last thing I have to do."

"Alright then, I'm coming with you." John announced. "Someone has to keep you from getting arrested a second time."

"I thought you have work."

"I took today and tomorrow off, no clue how long you'd be- detained for. At the rate this is going, I'm going to lose my job!"

"Oh hardly, that emergency clinic you work in needs all the s-" Sherlock halted midsentence.

"Where's Watson?" Sherlock asked. John looked at the spot between them where his daughter had been sitting a moment ago.

"She was just here!"

"And now she's gone." The two stood up and began to look frantically for her.

"I found her!" Called Sherlock. John ran over, breathing heavily. Rosie sat in the middle of the path that led to a small duck pond, staring at the body of a dead duck. She looked up happily at John and Sherlock, oblivious to their worry, then said with near perfect enunciation,

"I'm 'vestigating a murder!"

More than one set of eyes turned to look curiously for the source of the laughter. And quite a few were bemused to see two men laughingly heartily while a little girl proudly pointed to a dead duck.


	26. The final sentence

Because Sherlock was a former Juror, he didn't have to sit in the spectator's gallery. By extension John accompanied him, Rosie in his arms, Sherlock sat down in the front, as close as possible to the prosecution.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" John whispered worriedly, it seemed rather audacious to sit in such a visible place, considering how many people Sherlock had managed to offend.

"No, but it'll be so satisfying to see their faces." They still had fifteen minutes or so to wait before the sentencing was scheduled to start, so Sherlock gave Rosie a coloring book.

"Poisonous plants, interesting topic." Said John.

"I wasn't about to buy those silly My Little Pony coloring books!"

"Well, when you put it that way." John conceded the point, if it wasn't for the title, you'd never know the illustrations featured lethal plants.

John's phone vibrated, signaling an incoming text.

TEXT ME BACK AND LOOK REALLY FOCUSED. –SH

WHY ARE YOU TEXTING ME? I'M SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO YOU. –JW-

A REALLY ANNOYING FELLOW JUROR JUST SAT DOWN BEHIND US, I'M TRYING TO ANNOY HER. –SH

WHAT, BY TEXTING? –JW-

DELIBERATELY FLAUNTING THE FACT THAT I OBVIOUSLY BROKE THE RULES AND GOT AWAY WITH IT, BY USING MY PHONE IN COURT WHEN PEOPLE ARE STRONGLY ENCOURAGED NOT TO. –SH

SHERLOCK! –JW-

IF YOU'D SPENT DAYS LOCKED IN A ROOM WITH WENDY, YOU'D BE JUST AS EAGER AS I AM TO BOTHER HER. –SH

John was saved from having to reply, because the aforementioned Wendy leaned over the bench to speak to Sherlock.

"I thought you were arrested? Why are you back at court?" Hoping to provoke a reaction.

"I was detained; I'm free now, so I figured I'd better go hear the official sentencing." This time, Rosie interrupted.

"Look! I colored Belladonna!" She proudly held up a page where a picture of a belladonna plant was printed, covered in ten different shades of purple.

"Very good Watson! Do you remember how many berried it takes to kill a child?" She scrunched up her face in concentration.

"One or two." Sherlock smiled at her proudly. Wendy was frozen in shock.

"You're teaching your kid about poisons?" She sounded scandalized.

"Well, it's always best to have foreknowledge of potential dangers." John shot him a look that promised a serious discussion later. But for now, he seemed to have agreed with Sherlock that it would be rather fun to mess with Wendy.

"Sherlock was doing an experiment using Belladonna berries. Seeing how they'd react with other poisons."

"And you did this in the presence of a child?"

"Rosie was very happy playing with my skull, Look! They're getting ready for the sentencing to start. Perfect time for you to stop nosing around in our personal affairs." Sherlock cut her off and turned around, bringing Rosie with him. John glared at this Wendy. It wasn't that he encouraged Sherlock to show Rosie all these things a toddler really shouldn't know, but he knew that Sherlock would never purposely hurt Rosie, and he did not appreciate this woman suggesting any such thing.

"All Rise for the honorable Judge Simon." The Court Clerk commanded. The many people in the court stood up with a rustling of clothing. A quick glance around showed Sherlock that most of the jury members were in the audience. He dared to look at Judge Simon, who's face turned a funny shade of red when he saw just who was smiling smugly behind the prosecution's table.

"Order in the court." The judge even used his gavel. Everyone sat down and he shuffled through his papers. The lawyers looked anxious, Timothy was smiling hopefully, Sherlock couldn't see Keen's face, but from the tension in her back, he could tell she was very nervous.

"I shall now read the verdict delivered to me from the Jury and deliver the appropriate sentence. This is the case of Timothy vs Keen. Keen accused Timothy of assault, criminal stalking and murder, later demoted to manslaughter. After careful deliberation, the jury, has come to a decision about all three of these charges. This sentence is final, and not open to a re-trial.

"The charge of stalking with criminal intent has been declared invalid due to insufficient evidence. You are welcome to try that charge in another case Keen, however there is so little proof, you'd look a fool.

"Manslaughter. The Jury reached a unanimous decision that the accusations were false. This court is not addressing the obvious questions that brings up as to who truly killed Leister. Timothy will be completely cleared of this charge.

"As for the charge of assault, due to the disturbance last time this court was convened, the foreperson never got a chance to declare whether Timothy was guilty or not guilty of assault. Our back-up foreperson declared that the decision the jury had come to was that Timothy was not guilty or assault. A unanimous decision reached after super-majority was declared.

"In short, the jury finds Timothy innocent of all charges with no repercussions.

"Court dismissed."

And that was that, Judge Simon laboriously raised himself up from the chair to exit the courtroom. Keen clenched and unclenched her fists. Her lawyer snapped his folder shut in anger. A steady stream of people began to head towards the doors, heads bowed close together to discuss the case.

"So, you're service is now well and truly over?" John demanded.

"Well, my part confined in court. I still have to get Keen arrested, which means work of an investigative nature. Luckily we can do it our usual way."

"You have a plan? I thought that the Yarders didn't find any evidence at the scene of the crime in the motel."

"Well, they're all incompetent, so I thought we'd have a look ourselves. It's not even lunch yet. Plenty of time to go to the motel."

"What about Rosie? We agreed that she wouldn't come on cases."

"Dangerous ones, of course. However all we're doing is going to a motel."

"Where someone was killed!"

"The body is gone, at St. Bart's. Nothing traumatizing. You have the day off don't you?" John sighed.

"Only to the motel, but I don't know what you hope to find there."

"Evidence, clues. I'll know it when I see it. How about that Watson? Do you want to help us solve a mystery?"

"Murder!" she said happily, clapping her hands.

"What have you been teaching her Sherlock?" John growled under his breath. All the same, he soon found himself in a cab with his best friend and his daughter, heading towards the outskirts of London to look for evidence to get someone arrested. Normal life for those who live at 221b Baker Street.

Sherlock didn't turn to look back at Old Bailey as they left. He felt the familiar rush of excitement come whenever he was investigating a case, even if he already knew who did it and this trip was only to find evidence to get that person arrested. Already, the consulting detective had buried his experience as a juror deep inside his mind palace. He'd get around to analyzing them eventually.

* * *

**A/N: Alrighty folks, you've reached the end of this fic. Congratulations! I wrote it in December 2018 and posted it originally on Ao3. I've been halfheartedly trying to write a sequel featuring the hunt for evidence to get Keen arrested ever since, but other projects came in the way. Summer's here and as I'll soon have writing time, I plan on giving the sequel another go. If you're interested in this slim chance keep following this story or follow it now and I'll post another chapter with a link to the next story if and when I write it. Thank you to everybody who read this. Seriously, I love you all. I had such fun writing this and I hope by my sharing this story you all had fun too. Till the next story readers, every view and comment is wholeheartedly appreciated. (And remember people, not everyone has the British Government to get them out of tight spots. Most of Sherlock's actions as a juror in this story are highly illegal, punishable by a hefty fine or even jail time. I do not condone quite a few of them and would not recommend following Sherlock's example in real life. You have been warned.)**

**Cheers! **


End file.
